Atlantis
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: The epic conclusion of the Abby Scott (OFC) series. Following the events of 'the Deepest Secret', the BAU goes back to Atlanta to help an old friend solve the murders of Abby's old team. There, they must accept that they have stumbled upon new evils, a cat and mouse game, and a rogue Abby Scott leaving riddles, hell bent on fixing her all wrongs no matter the cost or consequences.
1. Opening Author's note

ATLANTIS.

 _"In_ Atlantis _, old Atlantis, Atlantis in the sea."_

Herman Scheffauer

* * *

Author's note: it is highly recommended that you read the previous installments of the Abby Scott series first. Also note that I have entitled this last story as 'epic', not because its grandness but because of its size - 19 chapters total. This is by far the longest and most intensive thing I've written and actually finished. It probably looks alien compared to the rest, not just because of its size (did I mention that it's going to be 19 whole flippin' chapters?) but also because it's been _years_ since I started the Abby Scott series and (thank God!) my writing has evolved and matured significantly. Still, I wanted to finish this, so here we are, in Atlantis in Criminal Minds.


	2. One by one, your turn

" _And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can't ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened."  
_ Douglas Coupland.

* * *

Date unknown.  
Time unknown.  
Present.

My name is Alissa.

I am thirty-four years old. I have black hair and a scar across my cheek. I also have a husband, Jim, whom is lovable, kind and my closest friend. We got married three years ago. His family gave us their blessings. My family did not for I have not spoken to them in twenty years.

Jim and I live in a small house in a small street in a small village. I cannot tell you where we live. Jim owns the local supermarket. I work as an accountant out of our home. I don't like the outside world and I don't like being outside.

We don't have a lot of money, but we live well. We've got a car, a radio, a television and DVD player. I own a small boatshed off the coast near Jekyll Island State Park. Jim doesn't know that, though. Zoe does know, about the boatshed.

Zoe is my friend. She's nice and protective. But she's just like me.

My name is Allisa, Alissa Mary Zucker.

I was fifteen when I survived your seven days of torture. When you let me go, I had become someone else. For years, you've been haunting us. Even when you were not there, not watching us, we died. Slowly. Forcefully… Painfully.

For years, you've been torturing us just by your presence. And we couldn't escape it. I couldn't escape it. I struggled. I fought. And I died. At little, each day. I had hoped that our city lights would protect me from the shadow that was chasing me. But you always found a darker corner. You always won. I tried to move on, I tried to reassure myself.

I tried to live.

But who was I fooling? I tried to live so I would be surrounded by people who would be able to see. But they didn't. And so I continued. But I realise now, that I cannot win this battle. I lost it a long, long time ago. I started to understand there was no way I could fight you, because you were a part of me. It's over now. You win, I lose.

And tonight, we die.

My name is Allisa Mary Zucker.

I am named Allisa because I liked that name. When I was only seven, I had a teacher named Allisa. She was a kind woman. My middle name is Mary, because Mary was the mother of Jesus and Father likes God, Jesus and the bible.

I don't know why I am named Zucker. Perhaps because it's the last letter in the alphabet and that makes it harder to find me.

My name is Allisa, Mary, Zucker.

But it is not my real name.

I know you're here. I've been waiting. We've _all_ been waiting. But you're early. February is early, it's only January. In February, we always end things.

So we wait, and we wait some more.

Zoe called. She said February is coming sooner than expected. That she can't stop it.

I said that I was sorry. She didn't understand. Then I said we would wait.

We would wait until February, because in February, things always end.

* * *

" _Courage is being afraid but going on anyhow."  
_ Dan Rather


	3. Family

" _What is family? They were the people who claimed you. In good, in bad, in parts or in whole, they were the ones who showed up, who stayed in there, regardless. It wasn't just about blood relations or shared chromosomes, but something wider, bigger. We had many families over time. Our family of origin, the family we created, and the groups you moved through while all of this was happening: friends, lovers, sometimes even strangers. None of them perfect, and we couldn't expect them to be. You can't make any one person your world. The trick was to take what each could give you and build your world from it."  
_ Sarah Dessen.

* * *

February sixth.  
Sixty days later.  
Sunday.  
08.04

It had been a total of two months. Exactly sixty days. Sixty days that their world had been spun around and was heading for a crash. For those sixty days, he tried to convince himself that he saved them, his team. That by eliminating the biggest threat to the integrity of the team, the impact would have been less, that they could walk away with just a few cuts and bruises. As per usual, beliefs are always different from reality. The balance among them had shaken, disrupted. Things weren't the same anymore.

Some dealt with betrayal. Others dealt with their sudden ability to see and felt stupid for being so eternally blind. Two of them dealt with a certain feeling of loss of a loved one. He tried to deny it, pretend he was fine like he always did, be the steady rock and the unbreakable tough-ass he always was, but he could see it in his eyes. He was hurting, both ways. Hurt by the stabs that had been forced into his body, and hurt by the absence of her presence. It was all too ambivalent, too ambivalent to be discussed, to ethereal to consider and there was no justice to be find to talk about it. They weren't supposed to utter words about a subject no one wanted to talk about, because they were all drowning in their own feelings.

At first, they had been driven by the anger of her treason and falseness. Their eyes had hardened, boundaries had been protected and mile high walls had been created. All because of what one person could do. And none of them had seen it coming. Perhaps that was what hurt the most. She was nothing but a disguise, a pretender; a con artist, almost. She left them wondering, ruminating about what she had said in the time she was with them and the honesty of those words was measured.

Truth was, they couldn't know what was true and what a lie. They could and would search for eternity, seeking behind the shadows, looking under the fog, but they would nor could never know. Because that was who she was. Nothing. The wind that tickles your chin but when you look up, there is nothing there. And now she was gone and she left him to clean up the mess. She left them all behind to ponder and cogitate; knowing that nothing was the truth and everything could be a lie. When had he let this happen?

Then, the most unthinkable happened. Despite their grudges, despite their feelings of faint hatred towards her, they never wished this upon her. Yet, history repeated itself and she fought against them with anger and masked despair, rash and bold. She fought them like she had done all those months that she was with them, pretending, faking. In the end, whether she had been shattered and broken and kicked until she couldn't bleed anymore, she kept pushing them away. She accepted no help, not from them, not from old friends or colleagues. Nothing.

She like the statue of Liberty and she hopelessly tried to keep herself together, not being able to stop the rubble from pouring from the cracks. It was only a matter of time - not how but _when_ the statue that represented her would collapse. He hated it, he truly did, but he couldn't help but wonder what would be left of her, what she would become if the outside fell and she could only rely on the horror, the blood, the morbid images, the death and terror inside her head.

She screwed them over and now she screwed them up. And he despised her for that. And then yet again, he didn't.

It had been sixty days since he fired her, the look on her face still vividly burnt into his eyes. For a short period of time, he could see actual feelings. But they made no sense, like nothing regarding her ever did.

Sixty days is a long time for someone to work and go home, no longer socializing with the rest of the team. He wasn't sure if it was a grudge the young doctor Reid held against him, but he knew that Reid held him accountable for her French leave. He was, after all, the one that fired her. The one that sent her away.

Late at night, the thoughts would become too wild and he found himself blaming _himself_ for her downward spiral and all the distress that had been caused. When he would wake up the next morning, he would tell himself that it was stupid and of course not true; she had caused the havoc. She had been tearing them apart long before. Reid had lost a good friend and whilst others tried to talk to him, he refused to believe everything that was said. His unconditional trust in this one person was worrying, yet he wouldn't listen. Reid's mind was set. He mused when that had happened but the answers were, once again, left and hidden somewhere in the dark. The dark that she had created and none dared to enter.

Then there was JJ. Sixty days was a long time to beat yourself up over and over again. Even Will had approached him and spoke his concerns out loud. Sixty days was a hell of a long time. Once again, it all revolved about _her._ Sixty days. It was too long and the longer he waited, the stronger the current became and the faster they would go under, sinking like the Titanic. The weight on JJ's shoulders must be near unbearable. She always considered herself an outsider of the team, not being an actual profiler. She had trusted her, perhaps even more than the rest of them, for she had shown her a world that she could be part of and she had created a respectful bond. JJ worried too much, she always did.

His biggest concern was, however, his right hand. The one he knew he could always rely on, the Spartan warrior. They could all see it, in his eyes, how he tried to pretend, make them believe what they saw was not real, just like everything else. But nobody dared to talk to Morgan, not even Garcia. Worst part was, he had seen her crawl under his skin, he had seen the way they looked at each other, interacted and bickered like husband and wife, an old married couple – worse than he did with Reid.

Whenever they were in the room, the air pulsed with electricity. Hotch had hoped, had praised to God that he was smart enough not to take it any further than stealing glances and accidental touches, but he feared the worst. After all, he had seen them. Would they really be able to resist the reciprocal lust that built between them faster than a fire could spread itself? Atlanta gave him the answer, like Atlanta had given them many answers, but just as much questions in return.

Like he always did, he stored it inside his head, the lies, the words, the beliefs, the pain and the hurt, stored away in his own black box until the poison that ran through his veins would kill him. She was in fact, already killing him, torturing him, slowly and vehement.

It took Aaron Hotchner sixty days to reach the end of the line and pull the trigger. He had been brooding for weeks, a month even. He had it all planned out and he was ready to take the blows. Or deal them out, if he had to. After a horrendous case, they were all tired and longed for long, hot showers and warm beds. Instead, he ordered them into the conference room, receiving looks and quiet protests, but he knew that he needed to push his team over the edge in order for them to start healing. For them to start fixing themselves.

Reid positioned himself in the chair furthest away from the rest of the group – furthest away from Hotch. His skin was pale and bleak, the circles underneath his eyes almost black. There was distance in his eyes. The kind of distance that you couldn't touch. He wore his 'annoyance' face; he probably didn't want to stay in the same room with _them_ any longer than he needed. The fact that Hotch was lingering, halting, waiting, if only for a few seconds, bothered the young doctor enough to cross his arms and look at the ceiling.

Morgan was wearing his frown. Even Hotch would have to agree with the ladies that he was a handsome man, but the older man also wondered what the ladies would think of the permanently plastered frown of worry on his forehead. It didn't suit him. It _shouldn't_ suit him. Expectantly, Morgan was looking at his supervisor because that was what Morgan would do. He was merely keeping up appearances. Nobody needed to know that he craved for a long shower and some darkness. Perhaps he would ride his bike to clear his head.

Prentiss' face had been carefully stroked with arrogance. It was something new – something that had started shortly after the fiasco called 'Scott'. It wasn't as much arrogance as it was annoyance; it was irritation because she knew what was about to happen next. Like all the times frustration and emotions ran high within the team and snappy comments and unspoken thoughts would drive them apart – it was once again all about _her_.

JJ pretended to be oblivious. Denial. First stage of grief. It's meant to be only for a short period of time, but two months was too long. JJ was slowly tormenting herself because she believed a woman that appeared so damned believable. JJ forgot that she wasn't the only one who fell for her lies. They had been fooled too. But because the pretty blonde was not an _actual_ profiler, she felt like it was more stupid of her to fall for it than it was for Hotch. It should be the other way around, but JJ would agrue that it was their job to hunt for the monsters and her job to keep them safe. For hours, Hotch sat behind his desk, his phone in his hand, ready to call her but unsure of what to say to her. He had tried, but failed miserably time after time. He didn't know what to do in order to shake his faithful communications liaison awake. _This was not your fault_.

Garcia was the one they forgot about. She would hide in her computer room, quietly contemplating on the things she could have done. She would ponder over all the ways she could think of in order to help her friends, mostly Morgan, and yet feeling as if she failed every time she would speak to them. She tried to brighten the world and make jokes, but she wasn't able to pull her closest friends out of the mud.

Rossi seemed to be the only one able to pull through. He and Hotch had talked a lot and Rossi's comments and insightful quotes helped Hotch believe that there was nothing they could do. And more importantly: that there was _nothing_ better Hotch _could have_ done, other than firing the culprit. Or as Rossi said; 'She has to learn that there are consequences to her actions. As long as she turns a blind eye to those and just goes on, she'll never do anything except running in circles'. At times like these, Hotch wondered what he would do without Rossi. Jason Gideon was an exceptional profiler and a hell of a man, but he too would probably bury himself underneath stupidity and guilt.

Hotch rubbed his eyes, sighing, wondering _where the hell_ to start. He decided to cut the crap and just get on with it. "Guys, we can't do this anymore."

Six pairs of eyes glanced in his direction, each with their own type of emotion.

"We cannot function if we are too afraid to look each other in the eye. What happened with Abby Scott is something that happened. It is no tragedy, it is not the end of the world. We need to get over ourselves otherwise we'll have to be looking for a new job. The director and Strauss are all over us, _especially_ after what happened with Atlanta with one of our own, they are scrutinising every decision, every move we make and we can't stand behind our opinions if we can't stand behind each other."

"He's right guys." Rossi said, glaring at his colleagues from underneath his brushy eyebrows.

"Easy for you to say." Reid snapped back.

"Okay then, tell me how you are planning on functioning properly with the attitude you have?!" Hotch suddenly felt like exploding. His raised his voice towards the young man, his eyes burning and pleading. "How do you think your colleagues can share their thoughts with you when you act like this?"

Finally, it seemed like Hotch was getting through to the genius. He had never expected raw emotion to crack the genius doctor, who relied so heavily on math, science and logic.

He bowed his head and mumbled. "Sorry."

"Reid." Hotch' voice was sharp. He waited until the person spoken to would look at him. "We made a deal, no more apologies." He remembered Reid of the agreement they had made in Atlanta. Hotch hoped it would do what it was intended to do.

"I miss her." Reid said defensively and strong, almost daring. "And I know that you don't. It makes it hard to talk about it."

"Reid, we all miss her." Morgan confessed. But he would only look at Reid and not at Hotch. Morgan stared down at his cup again.

"It's true." Prentiss suddenly said. "It's just... A different kind of 'missing of' for each of us."

"You don't miss her." Reid replied snappy.

"I do, Reid, I do. Abby took me for a drink a few of times. I don't think I've laughed more than I did those nights. I miss that and that's my kind of missing. But I also feel like she betrayed me. Because she took me to those bars and we laughed and she joked around and all this time she knew things we didn't and she knew she was telling me lies as she looked me right in the face."

This time, Reid didn't comment but only meekly looked at the dark-haired woman that talked to him.

"We're going to have to find a way to deal with this." Hotch started. "We can't chase the darkest criminals in the world if we're divided. And we don't have to solve it by the end of the week but we have to work on it."

Slowly, acknowledgement in the form of small nods found its way into the room and carefully lifted their spirits. Morgan felt the knife in his chest twitch and he left it there, if only because he had grown accustomed to the feeling. A small voice in Reid's head humbly entered his head and suggested that anger might also be a suited companion for his current emotion. By the way Prentiss swung her arm around JJ shoulders as Rossi cracked a misplaced joke and they laughed, JJ carefully realised that it was not because of Abby Scott that she was part of this team. And just as Hotch dared to look over the edge and attempt to let go of his constant state of panic, the phone rang.

 _It's February. February brings the end, darling. It always does._

* * *

 _"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before."  
_ Mae West


	4. Test of a leader

" _The true test of a leader is whether his followers will adhere to his cause from their own volition, enduring the most arduous hardships without being forced to do so, and remaining steadfast in the moments of greatest peril."  
_ Xenophon.

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
Sunday.  
08.59

The shrill sound of Hotch' mobile phone hung in the air like thunder after lightning. Perhaps the device knew the awkwardness of its timing because the sound was different. It was slightly off. Or perhaps it was just because seven persons in one room suddenly felt that hand around their hearts, the leash around their chests, the rope around their necks. They knew. Instantly.

It was something bad.

Hotch answered the phone and his team glanced at each other. "Agent Hotchner."

Silence. Two minutes passed as nobody dared to say a word. Their fears were confirmed because Hotch did not leave the room. He kept standing there, like had been standing for the last hour or so. If it had been a private call, he would have left. If it had been an official call, he would have left. However, if it was personal call, personal for the team, he would stay. And so each of the profilers – including JJ – realised it could not be good news.

"Okay, thank you. I'll be there."

Hotch hung up, avoided the stares of his team for a few seconds before looking up. "That was McCallister."

Supervisory Special Agent David 'Mac' McCallister ran the Special Crimes Unit department in Atlanta. Abby had worked for him for several years before her team leader, SSA Angie Wills, decided she wanted to 'loose' Abby and she was transferred to the BAU. When Scott was – as it later turned out, wrongfully - arrested for the murder of her best friend's fiancé, Hotch and his team discovered that Mac hadn't just been Abby's boss at the SCU; he had also been the team leader of a specialised group in the Army that tracked down wanted faces during the war in Africa and Iraq.

Despite the fact that nobody in that room, at that point, knew of the whereabouts of Abby Scott, nor if she had been able to return to the SCU as an agent, the way Hotch spoke and the manner in which he uttered words were enough reasons for concern. Reid in particular was looking at his supervisor with big, pleading, _awaiting_ eyes.

Hotch sighed. "Three SCU agents were killed half an hour ago. Executed. They need our help."

Prentiss softly gasped for air and she covered her mouth. Rossi's mouth parted and his usual stern glare made way for a trace of shock. Reid could only stare at Hotch, patiently waiting when he would end this stage of abrupt, devastating panic by telling him _she_ was okay. Garcia had exclaimed a small squeal and her eyes widened, whispering 'Oh my God'. Morgan looked down and away, his mind too caught up with the news that he forgot to play his role and continue to act unfazed by everything that concerned her. Hotch' eyes had flashed fear, but determination quickly set in and he stared at JJ.

"Abby?" She asked.

He waited, seconds became years and everything slowed down. Reid leant forward. Garcia caught Morgan covering his mouth with his hand, rotating his chair from the group, his eyes closed and a profuse upset frown on his once gentle face.

"No." He took a deep breath, as if he too had been waiting for to hear that. "Wills, Pinõ and Lewis. But Abby and Bronckovic couldn't be reached. They're still on leave." _So she is back._

Morgan sighed secretively, like Reid did. The thought that rose in Hotch' mind was startling and confusing, but he needed the thought right now. So he chose to muse about it later. Right now, someone had killed three FBI agents and hurt Abby Scott, the devil that was once part of his team. He kept repeating the sentence in his head whilst he spoke to his team. Garcia gasped for air and the tension in the room burst like a forceful bubble.

"I understand if you can't go or don't want to. I called you here because we need to talk about what happened or else we're going down. What just happened, as tragic and terrible as it is, struck at a wrong time for us. We're all still licking our wounds, pretending we don't or covering it up. Going to Atlanta, going back to Scott now, will probably only make it worse. So I understand if you can't or don't want to go. But I can't stay here, knowing that now, of all times, they need my help. She needs my help. I resent her for what she did, to me, to us, to the team, but I won't allow that to keep me here. If you decide not to go to Atlanta, I won't think of you any less. Quite the opposite, I would consider that an extremely wise decision, wiser than my own. If you, however, do decide to come, I will wait at the airport. Plane leaves in twenty."

Solemnly, Hotch hurried out of the room, his phone already pressed against his ear – probably calling section chief Strauss – as he headed towards his office. The rest of the team was left behind, flabbergasted, looking at each other, hoping to find a sign of what to do. JJ had covered her mouth with her hand, in her head going on about what to do. They had just started to process everything, they just started to melt back together after being viciously torn apart. Were they really supposed to leave it all behind and hurry back towards the place that had started it all to begin with?

The sound of Morgan putting his coffee mug on the table was the first sound they heard after Hotch' departure. Some might have called him wise, some might have called him desperate, others might call him stupid, but determination was set on Morgan's face as he left the room to get ready to fly back to Atlanta. Rossi followed soon, as did Prentiss. Garcia lingered, smiling weakly at her other best friend, whom was still unsure of what to do. The technical analyst briefly placed her hand on JJ's arm before going to Hotch to ask for orders. It was then that JJ recollected herself and just before she wanted to leave the conference room, she noticed the young genius. _He was still sitting there_.

"Spence?"

He looked up at her, his eyes still wide and confused.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"I don't know what to do."

And there it was; the reason why it had been Reid whom was causing all the trouble, Reid who had been disclosed about the whole situation, angry at his team for not believing Abby Scott. It had not been because he believed her or because he missed her, not completely. But it had been because he was too afraid to admit the hurt he felt by the betrayal of his former best friend. Whilst he was fighting against his supervisor, delivering snappy remarks and acting poorly, it had been because he didn't know what to be: angry, sad or defensive? If he admitted his hurt, would that mean he betrayed her? If he allowed his colleagues their anger towards her, would that mean he let her down? If he didn't defend her honour, would that mean that he failed her?

And so JJ, finally understanding her importance to the team and without liking it, understanding what Abby meant with 'you're the glue' as she had said months ago. She decided for him, _because she knew, somehow, what they wanted_. Because that was what she did, behind the curtains, without much knowledge or awareness of her actions; she was the mother, she kept them together and somehow, she always knew what was best for _her_ team.

"C'mon. Let's go."

Reid's lips formed a small line on his face and his eyes returned to a normal size. He nodded to himself, once, and then he stood up and left the room before JJ to get ready for one of the shortest flights in his life.

Because no matter how they looked at her, for whatever reason they were leaving Quantico behind them, the flight to Atlanta could not be long enough - they would be there before actually, really, wanted to be.

* * *

" _This city now doth, like a garment, wear the beauty of the morning; silent, bare, ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie open unto the fields, and to the sky; all bright and glittering in the smokeless air."  
_ William Wordsworth.


	5. Welcome to hell

_"Welcome to heaven, here's your harp. Welcome to hell, here's your accordion."  
_ Gary Larson.

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
Sunday.  
12.30

There had been nothing left of their three hour flight. Quietly, the team had sat in the plane with their own thoughts and their own feelings. Hotch had nodded at each of them when they entered the plane, but he spoke no words about their decisions. He had been on the phone a lot and he scribbled down information as it was passed along. From the corner of his eye, he was watching his team and they were watching him. They had counted clouds and the seconds that ticked away and waited until they would arrive. During their journey, photos and papers with information was sent to them. Without much talking, each of the members of the BAU primary team would study them, say a few casual things and then be left with the pace of their heartbeats. It had been different for all of them.

The first thing sent to them, even before the entire team had boarded the airplane, were the pictures and the information on the victims. SSA Angie Wills; SCU primary team leader and female serial killer expert. SSA Ricardo 'Cuba' Pinõ; drug expert. SA Holly 'Lewy' Lewis; sex offender expert and attack pattern specialist. Hotch and his team didn't need the photos to know who the victims were; they had met two months ago when their ex-colleague, the Brit Abby Scott, had been arrested for murder. She used to be SCU, working out of Atlanta, and her old team had been questioned in order to complete the profile on Scott. But, in the end, the results the BAU team had been looking for had turned the tables and curtains fell to reveal a person they did not really know. Dave Rossi had known Angie Wills from back in the days. Hotch himself worked with the SCU supervisor, David McCallister, on a case twelve years ago. They all knew the victims. They all had a personal connection to them, each in their own way.

This case was going to be hard, they all knew. The SCU had been Atlanta's personal super heroes. And now someone had taken those heroes from them and the city demanded answers.

Penelope Garcia – she had quickly changed her bright red jacket with flowers on the back for a more suitable, grey black-striped knitted jacket – sat at the table with a computer in front of her. These days, planes – especially government planes – were more able to deal with transmitters such as mobile phones and computers. The pilots never really liked it when the team used internet or satellite connections, but they understood the brave men and women of the BAU had a job to do.

"Sir?" Garcia called out to Hotch, her voice not carrying the usual spirit.

Her supervisor looked up from his notes. "Yes?"

"We have more pictures." She informed him.

Hotch stood up and his team, having heard the announcement, did as well and gathered around the booth Garcia sat.

"These are some of the crime scene photos McCallister just sent over." Garcia said and she pressed a button.

The first picture was probably the worst. It held an overview of the crime scene; showing a black SUV in an underground parking lot. Two people sat inside the car, the third wasn't to be seen. Behind the wheel, the lifeless body of Angie Wills was leaning against the door. Her eyes were only half closed and blood had dripped from her forehead down to her chin. Dead on arrival. As usual, Wills was dressed in black.

On her right sat Holly Lewis. Her head, the forehead covered by a streak of blood, was leaning back which caused her mouth to stand open – if only slightly. Lewy hadn't even put on her seatbelt. Two bullet holes in the front window confronted the viewers with horror and the two dead faces staring dead ahead behind them caused a tragic scenery.

This wasn't just a crime scene; this was a graveyard.

On the first photo it was visible once you finally managed to tear your eyes from the first two bodies; the door of the left backseat side of the car was opened. The second photo showed the result; Cuba Pinõ, in his motted smart brown check trousers and his long sleeves multicolour stripes cardigan, laying on the ground with two red spots on his chest. He was holding his gun in his right, his phone in his left.

"Guys, take a closer look at those pictures." Reid suddenly said as he nearly pressed the photo he was holding against his nose.

"What is it?" Hotch questioned and he stared at the picture of Angie Lewis. She had been such a statue and was now degraded to something ordinary – just a meat sack and bones, a corpse destined for nothing else but rotting. It was such a vehement attack on the character she once was.

"There are no entry wounds on their heads." Reid mumbled. "Here, see, you can't see the wound. You see the blood but not the wound."

"These pictures were Photoshopped?" JJ asked in disbelieve.

Garcia had studied the pictures on her laptop and typed away until she spoke. "I can't tell. They only sent me teeny tiny, compressed JPEG files so there's no way I can remove layers or reveal something."

Hotch immediately grabbed his cell phone and dialled a number too familiar to him.

"Why would they change a crime scene photo?" Morgan thought out loud and at no one in particular.

"They must be covering something up. But why? We're going over there to help them." JJ said in disbelieve. She made a face as she went through the pictures on her tablet. "There's not clear image of Pinõ either. You can see his body, but not his face."

"Perhaps they're trying to cover for someone?" Prentiss suggested carefully. She interlaced eyes with Rossi, the man she had spoken with in the late hours of the night, trying to find a way to get out of the mess.

"Abby wouldn't murder someone with a gun." Reid instantly replied platonic.

Before she spoke, she opened her mouth and glanced at Rossi again. "Reid, that's not what I meant."

"Yeah, it is." The genius told her, but his tone of voice remain so calm and at ease – as if talking about his facts or what he had for breakfast that morning. "I'm just saying. Abby wouldn't use her gun to murder someone. To her, guns represent law enforcement and everything that comes with carrying a badge. She would never disgrace the uniform."

"Right." Prentiss responded and smiled briefly, and fake.

"McCallister isn't picking up his phone." Hotch announced annoyed and he dumped the phone back on the table in front of him.

"Doesn't make any sense. They're covering up crime scene photos and now the man that called us for help isn't picking up." Rossi said to his superior with that grim, stark expression on his face. "I don't like where this is going."

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
Sunday.  
13.28

There hung something solemn in the air, a sense of grief and loss. Their shoulders were heavy during the walk to three parked SUV's. There was silence as well, and each agent avoided eye contact. They hadn't handled a case this personal since Reid's abduction. This time there were three victims and they all knew them – closely or not. They had been called, like with any other case, but they could not treat this as any other case. They were FBI. This was different. This was _personal_.

Reid rode with Morgan, the genius not once looking at the dark man as he stepped into the vehicle, wearing those ridiculous sunglasses and ignoring everyone else. For the past 2 months, Reid had refused to ride with Morgan, just as he had refused anything else to do with the older man. Garcia, who had been asked by Hotch to join them in Atlanta for her expertise, unlike her character chose the car Hotch and JJ approached. Morgan shortly glanced at her, but then bowed his head and let it be. Prentiss and Rossi didn't even need to look at each other – they just walked towards the car like they had done many times. Before taking off, Reid looked out the window and suddenly saw a figure a little over half a mile away, dressed in blue work clothes from the airport, smoking and looking at them. For a minute, Reid hated him just because the man wasn't sitting in his seat, knowing where they were going and knowing what news they would have to deliver at some point. And he hated him, solely for that reason.

The address of the crime scene had even already been programmed into the navigation system that came with the cars. Full tanks, parked in a way they could drive away easily. Once they left the airport, they were escorted by squad cars. Hotch noticed it all, stepping into the car, and he wondered what could be so bad that the Atlanta SCU couldn't wait till they got to the scene. He wondered what his team was about the face, after everything they had already been through. He knew he should have more faith in the abilities of his team members, that they were strong and confident people, but the little voice in his head kept repeating one sentence, and one sentence only.

' _Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you. Abby Scott played you.'_

It drove him nuts and kept him awake at night. Her case file lay open, next to his bed every single moment of every single day. He stopped bringing the file to work since he had mesmerized every little detail and went over it and over it and over it. He thought he had her. He thought he had gotten through to her, that he had managed to get to her and finally make something out of the washed-up profiler that had held such a high and promising future, filled with FBI fortune. Scott could have been the best. He thought he had gotten through to her and that he could make the best of her. That he could mould her into a team player and a person that played well with others. One that didn't go rogue on his ass and went in every other direction rather than follow and obey. However, what hurt Hotch the most, was that she had gotten to him. As he believed she was letting him in, he let her in and she enjoyed the feeling.

She had them all fooled. The greatest F.B.I. profilers just got conned by a devious woman with possible wrongful intentions and one that had lied her face and character together with the ease of confessing weekly sins to a priest. How foolish they must have looked to her. How foolish they must have been.

Way too soon to Hotch' personal taste, he turned the corner and saw Morgan do to the same in the black car behind him. As they approached 8th Street Northeast they were immediately greeted by police cars. Atlanta PD had secured the entire block making sure nobody got in, but also so that nobody got out without being seen. Hotch lowered the window with a simple press on the button and pulled the car up next to an approaching officer.

"My God. The entire neighbourhood pretty much came." Garcia said hushed as she looked out her window and watched countless of people behind the yellow tape.

"The SCU has been good to them. Dropping crime rates, the people feel safer, their kids can play outside again. And now, they've been hurt and it's the community's turn to watch the SCU's back." JJ replied, softly as Hotch talked to the officer.

"SSA Hotchner, BAU. Agent McCallister is expecting us."

"Yes sir, thank you. You can go through." The officer, blond and young, told him and signalled to his colleagues to clear the way. Then he talked into his radio. "BAU is here."

After flashing their badges they were allowed to drive through the roadblocks and drive up to an imposing and tall, but completely misplaced building. A large apartment building with underground parking had been placed right across a small alley and a small, two story building that could be a home, but could be an office as well. Surely, on the corner of Piedmont and 8th Street, a modern-looking flat wouldn't be that ill located, and yet it would if you knew that just two blocks down, people had gardens with trees and one-story homes and low red brick walls at the end of their property. The transition from modern, commercial, working life to the American dream home and living was just too rapid and abruptly to understand why suddenly the buildings were tall and mostly showing glass.

Parking the SUV's on the middle of the small two-way street, the team stepped out of their vehicles and walked towards the grey structure. Garcia would stay behind in the car, not wanting to set foot in a crime scene, and would start working from the car to have something to do. Angie Wills had lived on the fifth floor, owning a small but nice condo where she moved to after the death of her lover, colleague and co-founder of the SCU, Trevor Harrison. They would look at her apartment later, for now all they needed to see was the crime scene. Questions were burning on Hotch' tongue like acid and he wanted answers. Soon. For the past two months he had been walking around with unanswered questions and found that the cause of it all, Abby Scott, wasn't willing to answer them for him. Now, David McCallister, head of the SCU, was raising more questions and again, didn't seem willing to provide answers. Or closure, for that matter. As Hotch, followed closely by his loyal team, got closer to the entrance of the parking lot, he started to distinguish a memorable figure.

He was completely misplaced – more than the tall structure and its reflecting glass. He had pocketed his hands, staring at something on the road, he shoulders hanging low, his head slightly bowed. He wasn't on his phone and perhaps that was most out of character. David McCallister was always doing something with his phone; calling, being called, texting, keeping the troops together and guiding them through battle. McCallister was one hell of a leader and ever since he was appointed head of the SCU, nobody had ever been able to say that he had done something wrong, or that something should have gone differently. People agreed with his methods and saw that they worked, they created success and he gained respect by the day. To see him standing there now, Hotch thought, shouldn't have surprised him considering the circumstances. And yet, it bothered Hotch to see a fellow leader stand and look like that. He had never been in his shoes before.

"Mac." His voice was kind, even though he wanted to demand to know what on earth was going on.

His head snapped in the direction the voice came from and Hotch could read the relief washing over McCallister's face as he immediately extended his hand. "Hotch. Thank you so much for coming. And your team," He added after looking over Hotch' shoulder, "thank you. We need all the help we can get."

Again, unlike his character, McCallister spoke before being asked. There was a short pause and McCallister swallowed and pointed at the entrance. "I'm sure you have figured out by now that the photo's we sent you weren't originals." Hotch nodded with a stern glare. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't take the risk, I didn't want anyone else figuring out yet. The crime scene has been secure since we got the call, nobody's been there yet, not even the crime guys, so please, be careful."

"What's going on Mac?" Hotch asked him, frowning and not understanding.

McCallister sighed and ran his hand over his mouth and chin. "He's back, Hotch."

There was something in the way he said it, something in the look in his eyes that immediately struck a nerve with Hotch. He did the calculations in his head; they had worked together on one case only.

An unsolved one.

* * *

" _All living souls welcome whatever they are ready to cope with; all else they ignore, or pronounce to be monstrous and wrong, or deny to be possible."  
_ George Santayana.


	6. Destiny Comes

" _For all his bluster, it is the sad province of Man that he cannot choose his triumph. He can only choose how he will stand when the call of destiny comes... hoping that he'll have the courage to answer."  
_ Tim Kring

* * *

 _Previously._

" _Mac." His voice was kind, even though he wanted to demand to know what on earth was going on._

 _His head snapped in the direction the voice came from and Hotch could read the relief washing over McCallisters face as he immediately extended his hand. "Hotch. Thank you so much for coming. And your team," He added after looking over Hotch' shoulder, "thank you. We need all the help we can get."_

 _There was a short pause and McCallister swallowed and pointed at the entrance. "I'm sure you have figured out by now that the photo's we sent you weren't originals." Hotch nodded. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't take the risk, I didn't want anyone else figuring out yet. The crime scene has been secure since we got the call, nobody's been there yet, not even the crime guys, so please, be careful."_

" _What's going on Mac?" Hotch asked him, frowning and not understanding._

 _McCallister sighed and ran his hand over his mouth and chin. "He's back, Hotch."_

 _There was something in the way he said it, something in the look in his eyes that immediately struck a nerve with Hotch. He did the calculations in his head; they had worked together on one case only._

 _An unsolved one._

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
Sunday.  
13.44

"Who's back?" Prentiss asked right away. She switched her deep glances from Hotch to McCallister as Hotch put things together.

"The Christian Killer." Her boss said without emotion.

"That's impossible." Prentiss piped. Her eyes were wide. "He died five years ago."

"Wait, hang on, who is the Christian Killer?" JJ had put her hands in front of her chest as if saying 'stop' and tried to make sense of what she was hearing.

"Come on." McCallister gestured for Hotch and his team to walk into the building so they could talk more privately and away from any 'overhearing ears'.

An Atlanta police officer lifted the yellow crime scene tape and nodded at the SCU agent. McCallister guided them towards a staircase going down, all the while remaining silent, and eventually, following a long and grey and blue hallway, stopped in front of a door that read 'Garage entrance'. He looked up at the BAU team, his face saddened and grim. Then he looked at Hotch. "Do you wish to do the introductions?"

Before he talked, Hotch shared a knowing look with his equal and turned to his team. "The Christian Killer is the case we worked on together, twelve years ago. It was one of my first major cases." He said half-heartedly. As if it was supposed to mean anything. "We profiled him to be a man around his thirties, strongly religious, organized, disciplined, cold and calculated. He would take 14 to 15 year old girls, all blondes, and keep them for a total of seven days. Altogether, he abducted eighteen girls - only six survived."

"What did he do to them?" Prentiss asked softly.

"Mostly, he talked to them." McCallister said. "From what we could gather from the survivors, he kept them strapped onto a table, fed them, gave them water and preached. Some he would cut, mostly when they 'misbehaved', as he called it. He would beat them occasionally, but he was the kind that left the mental scars."

"The worst kind." Rossi commented gravely. He had been familiar with the case.

"Why did they call him the Christian Killer?" JJ wanted to know. She eyed her supervisor carefully, not sure if she really wanted to know.

"There were heavy religious aspects present. The fact that he would preach to them, tell them about God, he read the Bible to them and attempted to drown them in holy water."

"Attempted?" Prentiss almost spat out.

"We think it was more of a cleansing ritual." McCallister elaborated. "He would also carve a cross on the foreheads of those he killed. He dismembered the bodies and buried to body parts at several different locations, all marked with a small, wooden cross."

Hotch was silent for a moment. "You have to understand, the Christian Killer is whole different sort of serial killer. He didn't take those girls for sex or power or to satisfy his own needs."

"He wanted to create the perfect victim." Morgan put things together before Hotch could speak. "He wanted them to be victims for the rest of their lives. He wanted victims that would last _his_ entire life, so they would always be _his_ victims."

"He's the most dominant and controlling killer I've ever seen. The care and detail he put into his abductions, the kills, the survivors. This was pretty much his destiny." The older man said to Morgan, confirming his earlier words. This wasn't just _any_ serial killer.

"But Prentiss just said the Christian Killer died." JJ responded.

"We have never caught him, nor have we been able to officially identify him." McCallister explained. "Five years ago, Atlanta PD was called to a deadly car accident. Inside, they found a forty-seven year old man, a Bible and a necklace that once belonged to Tamara Rice. She was his fifth victim. She didn't survive. We assumed that he _could_ be the Christian Killer and the press got wind of it. They said that he was indeed the Christian Killer and thus concluded that he was dead. People believed it but we've never been able to absolutely confirm that. The victim, Jacob Howard, he was a local priest and according to his neighbours, kept to himself. We weren't able to completely match the profile to Howard." McCallister added. "But there were strong indications."

"Why did he stop?" Morgan asked.

Hotch shrugged. "We don't know. He took his last girl and disappeared. Zoe Price was his last victim. She was never found."

"So, what makes you think that he's back?" Rossi, with his deep and penetrating stare, looked at McCallister and observed him grabbing a plastic bag from his pocket. Inside, there was a note and he showed it to the team as Rossi read the words out loud.

"I've got my darlings Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Saturday is close. Agents McCallister and Hotchner, I want my Sunday back. I will have my darling back.

Welcome to the Conquest."

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
 _Sunday.  
_ 13.59

"Hotch, that note is too personal." Rossi argued with his supervisor. Hotch tried to ignore him as they walked through the parking lot towards the crime scene. The last resting place of three SCU agents. _What a hell of a way to die._ "He knows you and McCallister by name, he knows you worked together. I don't like this."

Abruptly, Hotch stopped and turned to look at Rossi. "What do you want me to do? Walk away? I can't. I have to solve this case. He made it personal. It's the first time he's contacting law enforcement and he left enough clues to pursue different leads."

"Saturday and Sunday?" Rossi replied sarcastically.

"Today is Sunday." Reid said casually. Rossi glanced in his direction. McCallister caught his look.

"Everything means something to the Christian Killer, even the smallest details or circumstances. Evelyn Parker and Zoe Price, his last two victims? Evelyn was taken and released on a Saturday. Zoe was taken on Sunday." McCallister added in Hotch' defence. There were new leads.

"One girl lived, the other was never found. Where is Evelyn Parker now?" Rossi questioned.

"She still lives in Atlanta. I already sent a squad car to pick her up."

"So you've got Saturday. You can't find Sunday, because she's dead. You said it yourself, you never found her."

"She could still be alive." Hotch said stubbornly. "For all we know, he's kept her all these years. Perhaps he found his perfect victim and he kept her. It would explain why he stopped after her. It's possible that she escaped and he's looking to get her back." His voice sounded almost hopeful.

"Hotch, he released his victims if he wanted them to be released. How many girls are there that are still alive but haven't been found?" Rossi shot back.

The other agent sighed and rubbed his forehead. "None. Either we found at least parts of them, or they were still alive."

"So Zoe Price is dead. Hotch, I read the case file. I know what I'm talking about."

"You weren't there, Dave." Came the bitter reply.

"You're right. But Zoe Price is the only girl that was taken on a Sunday, right? That you haven't found her, or anybody else in the past twelve years, most likely means she's dead. What other leads do you have besides Saturday?" Rossi said the nickname cynically. As if people could be degraded to a day of the week.

"The note still doesn't mean anything." Morgan suddenly commented and shrugged when he received the looks. "There's no proof that it is indeed the Christian Killer."

David McCallister, whom had been silently listening to Rossi's argument, suddenly started to walk with angry steps and turned around the pillar. He stopped, turned to the team and held an attitude that said 'say that again'. The team followed and once they turned the concrete pillar, they were stopped dead in their tracks by a car and two corpses in the front seats.

The red cross carved into their foreheads was impossible to miss.

McCallister sighed again before he spoke. He sounded somewhat angry, like it had been bottled up. At times, he gritted through his teeth. "We never released the carving of the cross to the press. Nobody can access the Christian Killer case files without the permission of both me and the director of the FBI and even if they did, we kept that detail out of public records to make sure that we would know the second it was really him. Fuck, I've read some official FBI reports that even didn't mention it. None of the survivors knew about his signature, so it didn't come from them either. Further more, we found three small, wooden crosses. He left the crosses of the girls-" He stopped midsentence and swallowed "in their laps and Pinõ's cross was lying close to his body. There is no way in hell that someone could know this kind of information. This is _not_ a copycat. Hotch." He waited until the man called upon met his eyes.

"He's back."

Morgan, followed closely by Reid, was circling the car and studying every little detail his keen eye could see.

"There's no security footage." Prentiss said, holding her notebook. She and JJ just talked to the parking attendant.

"He most likely disabled the camera that covers this area exactly since all other cameras are still intact." The blonde added.

"So he must have found a way in and out without being seen but even if we could have seen him on camera, that didn't matter. We weren't, however, allowed to see this. Why?" Hotch concluded as he stared at the two dead agents in the black SUV. The fact that they were still there, four hours after being shot to death, was slightly disturbing but Hotch was glad McCallister decided not to move the bodies. It enabled them to see the whole picture, as gruesome as that might be.

"So he came from the left," Morgan started, his back towards the front of the car. "He walked up, rounded the pillar and took his shot."

"Some shots, he hit them both right where he wanted." Prentiss grimaced.

"Perfect shooting abilities." The dark man said. "However, he wasn't fast enough to shoot Ricardo Pinõ. He's older now. Pinõ opened the door and got to the side of the car." Morgan told the story from the evidence. He walked around the car again and stopped in front of Cuba's body. "He was making a call, probably leant forward to try and see something when the Unsub walked around the back of the car and surprises him from behind. He shoots him in the chest, twice, places the crosses and leaves."

Reid squatted down next to Cuba's body and, with a gloved hand, grabbed the cell phone. "That's odd. He didn't call 911. In fact, he called a number that wasn't even in his contact list."

"That is weird." Morgan commented as Reid stood up and both men looked at the cell phone.

"So, your partners are down, you're getting shot at and you call an unknown number?" Prentiss summed it up with clear confusion in her voice.

"That doesn't make sense." JJ said. "Could he have entered the wrong number?"

"There are enough digits to be an actual number." Morgan told her mumbling. He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that told him he knew what this smelled of and that he didn't like it.

"Get Garcia to figure out who he was calling." Hotch ordered but suspiciously eyed his team when nobody moved. McCallister was, finally in character, and on his phone. The crime scene guys would be allowed in and the coroner would be asked to remove the bodies with the most care and most dignity she could come up with.

"I don't like this Hotch." Morgan softly spoke to his supervisor, his shoulder positioned away from the scene to try and create some private space.

Hotch didn't look at the man and instead, had his eyes fixed on the actions of the coroners. "I don't either. There's something wrong with this."

"He kills three SCU agents just to leave a note for McCallister and you? The McCallister part is the part I get, but why you? You're not related to the SCU in anyway, and still he's contacting you through them?"

"We're missing a link." Hotch nodded. "We need the two remaining SCU agents."

Morgan only stared at him and failed to get an opportunity to reply. McCallister marched towards the pair and caught the attention of the rest of the team.

"That was the squad unit I had sent to pick up Evelyn Parker. There was no one at the house." He paused and the silence pressed on their shoulders. "There was a stack of mail from a few days behind the door and neighbours stated that they hadn't seen her in _at least_ five days."

"Saturday is close." Rossi quoted softly. He carefully looked up, an apologetic crack around his mouth. "I'm afraid that it's a good possibility you'll find his first five survivors already dead, Mac."

McCallister nodded, staring down at the phone in his hand. "I sent out unmarked cars and squads to their addresses the moment this happened. None were at home."

The air fell silent and foreboding.

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
 _Sunday.  
_ 14.38

He was too quiet for his liking. He had known the younger man for over 4 years now and he had never known him to be this quiet. With worry lines covering his gentle face, he looked at him as he stopped for a red light. He seemed too impersonal. Sighing, he decided to try and talk to him, betting against the odds of getting his head bitten off.

"You okay?"

Reid didn't reply. Instead, he looked outside the car window, his right elbow propped up against the door and his head resting on his fist.

Morgan sighed again. "I know, kid. I know."

"Have you talked to her?" The young genius suddenly asked. He didn't look at his colleague.

"No. I haven't." Morgan admitted.

"Have you tried?"

There was no hint of judgement in his voice. So Morgan decided to bite. "No." Pause. "Have you?"

Reid was silent again.

"Reid." Morgan started. He had pulled up after the light went green again and continued driving towards the SCU Headquarters. "I'm worried about you." He admitted, glaring at his partner whenever he could. "I think we all are."

"I called her." Reid said softly, almost whispering. "I left her about a dozen messages. She didn't call me back. At first, I thought she just, I don't know. Grieved. And then I figured she was busy. But she never called me back, or replied to my messages. I guess she just doesn't want to talk to me anymore."

"Reid. At lot of things happened. We threw her life upside down and certain things came up that I'm sure she didn't want to come up like they did. Perhaps she's just sorting things out herself."

"Oh yeah." Reid suddenly sounded defensive. "I'm sure that's why her phone was disconnected two weeks ago. Or why she deleted her email account. She doesn't want anything to do with us anymore, Morgan. With me, anyway."

The brakes made little noise as Morgan stopped in front of a building he didn't want to see for a long time. _The last time you were here, she was still at your side._ _Or should I say,_ on _your side?_

"I'm sorry." Morgan replied weakly.

"So am I." The genius responded harshly and hurriedly stepped out of the car, marching towards the HQ. Morgan watched him for a brief moment before following him.

 _Oh Abby, oh Abby. What have you done?_

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
 _Sunday.  
_ 14.51

If buildings had the ability to grieve, the SCU Headquarters was right at the start of it. There hung an uncanny silence between the walls and the air was thick and solemn. The place seemed darker, almost as if the structures itself were trying to hide in the shadows and wallow in their despair. The small coffee and sandwich shop on his right was closed, the owner standing in front of it as she talked to three agents. She looked shocked - an impression that would likely stay on her face for a while, as if wearing make-up that she couldn't take off.

The team walked up the stairs, following a broken leader that wore his soul under his arm. They passed the 'Wall of Fame' and each of the members of Hotch' team must have thought that soon, there would be more pictures upon that wall and unwillingly, they didn't dare to look. As McCallister took point again, guiding the BAU team through the large front room of the SCU, agents of the Special Crime Unit, the pride and glory of Atlanta, stopped whatever it was they were doing and their eyes followed the eight FBI agents that in respected silence, entered the glass room. Team One's primary room. Where Wills, Pinõ, Lewis, Bronckovic, Abby and all those other fallen ones had studied the dead, observed their prey and put the pieces of the puzzle together to catch Atlanta's most notorious offenders.

As soon as the team had entered, McCallister closed the door behind them and pressed the switch next to it. Hotch looked around. He had seen the magic of the Glass Room from the other side, as he observed Abby Scott looking at her team before they disappeared behind a screen of matte glass, but being actually inside of the room as it happened, was something that temporarily took his mind of the doomed task beforehand. The Glass Room was something unique and impressive as it held all the latest technology that limited the possibilities to almost endless. A system fast and powerful, tweaked by great computer scientists like Milo Bronckovic, tuned in to the SCU's desires and demands. Hotch had heard a rumour that they even created a speed dial key that, once the command was either physically or vocally entered, it would order of the team's favourite pizza's. The large and imposing flat screen that hung upon the wall, almost as if being a beamer screen, held the best optic imaging there was. But, as Abby had explained to them, the true magic of the 'Glass Room' was put into the glass walls that divided the room from the rest of the building. The glass walls were made of SPD Smart Glass windows and by pressing a switch or giving the command, electric pulses were send to the suspended particle devices which allowed the glass turn matte.

A journalist had once described the SCU as 'the shadows that protected dear Atlanta'. After believing for years that expression was very much over the top just like pretty anything else in this former factory was, Hotch finally understood what the man had meant by that. Being behind the matte glass morphed them into mere shadows and allowed whoever was in the room to work in complete privacy. Hotch, knowing the SCU's reputation, wasn't sure if that was always a good thing. Under the command of Trevor Harrison, rules had the tendency to be bent to match the team's desire. And still, also knowing the cases they worked on and the way that the SCU worked, Hotch could understand the demand for privacy.

McCallister cleared his throat as each member of the BAU took a short moment to take in the adjustment of their surroundings. "This room is at your fullest command. Miss Garcia," He looked at the blonde technical analyst, "you should have full access to our files. If there is anything you need or need to be done, just let any SCU agent know and we'll get it done. Though I'm sure you'll be able to work your way around the system." McCallister added with a small smile.

"Thank you." Garcia said kindly and sat down and got ready for battle.

"There is something you should know before we start." Mac said, his voice suddenly more serious. The team casted their eyes upon him. "There's more than just an order of privacy in this room by shielding this room with matte glass. Team One, they always entered this room under a code. What happened in this room, would stay in this room. It allowed them complete honesty and for years, that honesty and openness with each other allowed them to catch their Unsubs. To them, this was a sacred place. I only ask that you respect their code, even though they are no longer here."

"Of course." Hotchner immediately replied with a soft voice. But as his eyes were kept on the SCU leader, he knew there was more to what McCallister just told them.

"Now, I need to know if my other agents are in danger." Mac asked to the point, not just yet allowing Hotch, or anybody else, into the hidden meaning behind his previously spoken words.

Hotch glanced at his team. It was an untold cue for them to start their minds and work their own abilities.

It was Rossi who spoke first and his voiced sounded like he had come to his conclusion some time ago already. "This was a direct, premeditated hit on several members of your primary team." He answered in a low tone. "I would suggest gathering the rest of Team One, if only just to be safe."

Hotch kept his eyes peeled on the fellow leader in the room and his head tilted back as soon as he understand what was going on. McCallister didn't reply. Instead, he closed his eyes, nodded and looked back up.

"You don't know where she is." Hotch remarked. He now fully realised the importance of McCallister's need to keep everything spoken of within those four walls. Understanding the gravity of that, several heads snapped at the two leaders.

Mac looked at Garcia. "Would you mind pulling up Frankie's file?"

Garcia nodded and started typing. Within seconds, she had the requested file under her fingers and the flat screen upon the wall came alive. Abby's picture and personnel file appeared before them. Garcia successfully fought the urge to squeal. "Enter the search command 122620100830."

Garcia did as she was asked and a video file opened and started playing. It showed Abby standing in front of Fulton Police Department in the middle of the Five Points district. The time stamp in the right lower corner showed that she stood there for about a minute, made phone call and then walked away.

"This is the last time we saw Frankie. She disappeared after walking away here and no one has seen her since." McCallister elaborated.

"Not even Bronckovic?" Rossi asked, having seen the strength of their friendship as he interviewed Bronckovic after his fiancé's body had been found in the trunk of the SUV Reid and Abby were in.

"Not that I'm aware of." Mac answered truthfully. "There are ways we can get a message out to her, tell her to report right in, but I'm not sure if she'll get those messages on time." He continued, referring to the fact that Padre and his Wild Bunch, a group of homeless people 'owning' the corner right across Fulton PD, would know how to get in touch with Abby.

"Do we know who she called?" Prentiss asked.

Mac nodded. "Yeah, she called me. She didn't say anything. Though, I have to be honest, I didn't really give her a chance. I just picked up, told her she should report to my office the following morning, where I'd have her badge and her gun ready for her and we'd talk about everything else tomorrow. Next morning, I get to my office, her badge isn't there and neither is her gun. She left me a note saying 'Sorry boss, really need this. Will explain later, don't have time. Don't leave Atlanta'." He glanced around the room. "Yeah, it didn't make sense to me either. I figured, oh I've known Frankie for a while know, she'll be over at Miles', reconcile, get drunk stupid and I'd be getting a call that they've been arrested again for stealing a squad car, or to pick them up from some police station where they're sleeping off their hangovers. Few days passed, I heard nothing, I called Miles and he says that he hadn't talked to her. By then, it was too late to anything about it so I just, kept my eyes and ears open and prayed that she wouldn't turn up dead."

"What about Bronckovic?" Hotch questioned.

"I already called him, he's on his way."

"Good. Do you think the SCU is able to locate Abby?" McCallister nodded at Hotch. "It would allow us to completely focus on the case." Hotch avoided the words 'death team member's case'. He wasn't sure what to call it yet, either.

"Of course." McCallister responded. "I'll get the teams right on it. And I'll have them find Evelyn Parker and the other girls as well."

"Good. There are a lot of things missing right now, things that don't make sense or don't add up. It's important that we start to gather all the pieces of the puzzle. I think it would be best if you helped us with our case though." Hotch told him gently. "That is, if you're up to it."

McCallister smiled weakly. "Agent Hotchner, with all due respect." He stepped closer and anyone in the room was suddenly confronted with a man that looked like he was a good leader, strong and independent and righteous, but had two faces. McCallister suddenly was the type of man that you didn't want to cross paths with when you had done him wrong – intimidating, fierce, powerful. JJ instinctively understood how McCallister had arranged Frankie's transfer to the BAU – because he was like that. Nice and smooth to the surface, hard and adamant to the bone. He was the kind of guy that if he said something, he'd get it done.

"That man kidnapped eighteen girls and killed twelve, two of which he took right from underneath our noses. Now he's back and as his psychotic comeback, he murders three of my best agents in an as good as empty parking lot, degrading them to nothing but ordinary homicide victims. Not even the fucking president would be able to take me of this case." There was a moment of silence as Hotch and McCallister came to an unuttered agreement. "I'll talk to my other teams, if Frankie and his previous victims are out there, they'll find them."

Hotch nodded and with that, McCallister excused himself from the room.

Hotch turned to his team and was about to speak, his mouth already opened, when someone interrupted his attempt.

"Hotch." Reid's voice caused the eyes in the room to look at him. JJ worriedly covered her mouth, fearing what her favourite person would say. Prentiss and Rossi shared a look and Morgan inaudibly sighed. But Hotch could see something on the young man's face that he hadn't seen in a while and waited in silence as Reid stepped forward.

"We're going to get this guy." He suddenly said and was met with surprised looks. "We're going to get him and we're going to bring him to justice."

Without words, Hotch thanked the genius for having the ability to notice things that even the trained eye had trouble seeing. He thanked him for understanding the severity of this case and what it meant to him, without knowing the facts or anything else for that matter. Reid simply had understood that this case had been extremely personal to Hotch and now, instead of fighting his team like he had done since the moment his friend and fellow genius got arrested for murder, it was Reid that stepped up and showed him full support. But most importantly, Hotch wordlessly thanked Reid for finally being fully on Hotch' side and wanting this man caught for Hotch' sake and not for Abby's. Hotch liked to compare the couple to the world's nastiest break-up, even though Reid and Abby had never been and would probably never be romantically involved. And still the parting of the two resembled a deadly divorce and Hotch understood that at this moment, Reid finally allowed the scars to start healing and overcome his own, personal tragedy. Hotch nodded and accepted the fact that Reid, at last, entered the final stage of grief.

"JJ." Hotch regained the composure he had lost for a few seconds as he mentally talked to Reid, and his voice was in its usual stern sound again. "I want everything there is on the Christian Killer, every original part of the case. Everything on the crime scenes, every note, every thought. I want to know who in the last thirteen years has accessed or tried to access his file. Garcia?"

"I'm on it boss-man!" Garcia said loudly, not needing instructions.

"Rossi and Prentiss, go back to the crime scene and take a good look at Will's apartment. Profile everything you see. Before you go, instruct whichever team will go to Evelyn Parker's home and tell them what they need to look for. Morgan, you and I will go through Team One's case files. There has to be a reason why the Christian Killer came back after all these years and why he targeted Wills, Lewis and Pinõ specifically. Reid," Hotch turned to look at him, "that note he sent-"

"On it." Reid replied quickly and added a small smile.

His troops displaced, scattered over the battlefield in search of loyalty, armour, weapons, nameless faces and answers. Even though they weren't ready, even though they had wounds of their own that still needed time to heal, they were all ready for a case they knew, would be the most important one of their lives.

 _And thus, this is how we go to war._

* * *

" _And if ye go to war in your land against the enemy that oppresseth you, then ye shall blow an alarm with the trumpets; and ye shall be remembered before the Lord your God, and ye shall be saved from your enemies."  
_ Bible, 10:9


	7. Come to the Edge

" _Fear only two: God, and the man who has no fear of God."  
_ Proverb.

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
 _Sunday.  
_ 16.11

"That's odd." Morgan commented off-minded.

He was sitting at the end of the table, closest to the computer screen, piles of case files surrounding him as he held up papers of a particular case. He glanced at the laptop on his right. He looked at the papers again, and at the brown case file, and then back at the laptop. Hotch, who joined studying the original Christian Killer case with McCallister and JJ when the blonde suddenly noticed an irregularity regarding a witness statement of the man to have last seen victim number four (Jenny Walker), looked up to watch Morgan.

"What's wrong?"

Morgan sighed, checked his facts again, and then looked at McCallister. "There's a file here, on a case about several missing women. Only problem is, the file isn't in the system. It's off the books. Just like this case; an investigation into the Christian Killer."

"Did you know team One was studying the case?" Hotch asked McCallister.

He shook his head. "No. I didn't." He paused as he thought. "Which is odd. Wills wasn't the type that would go dark. Especially not considering pretty much everyone here knows I worked the case. If she was investigating it, she would have come to me."

"Could that be the reason why Abby was transferred to the BAU?" Reid suddenly questioned out loud.

McCallister looked at him confused, hence Reid continued. "Abby said that she based her end thesis for both her Criminology as her Psychology degree on the Christian Killer. Perhaps she started an investigation behind Wills' back and Wills found out."

"That would be something Frankie would do, yeah." McCallister commented with a bitter taste. "Damn it."

"What?" Hotch asked again.

"Over the last year, she occasionally took a day off."

"That's nothing like Frankie." JJ remarked.

"Exactly. She's been secretive, on edge..." McCallister trailed off. "She must have thought she had something."

"Could that be why team One was killed?" JJ asked, forming the words that hung in the air but nobody really dared to say.

"It's possible." Hotch answered as he sighed. "Perhaps she was getting too close?"

"Only problem is," Morgan interrupted their train of thoughts, "she was no were close to this guy. There's not much new in this file and from what I can tell by the state the paper is in, she barely even looked at the scenes or the profile, but focussed mostly on the victims."

"Maybe she was trying to find a way to get to him by determining what was so special about the girls he took." Reid suggested.

"If she did, it's not in the notes." Morgan replied.

"What about her laptop and home computer?" Hotch suddenly remembered. "We still have those."

"Yeah, but Garcia has been unable to crack the password." JJ reminded him, rubbing her forehead.

"I've been trying for the past two months sir, I don't think I can get in at all. It's too protected, too encrypted." The tech admitted.

They were running around like headless mice in a maze that had no exit.

"What about Bronckovic?" Morgan said, looking at McCallister.

The man with the dark, short, military cut hair nodded, but hesitantly. "I could ask him, but.. I'm having a hard time telling him his team just got murdered two months after his fiancé was killed. I'm not sure how he will take this news. It might send him in overdrive mode, or it might just set him over the edge."

"What do you think it will do?" Hotch looked at Mac with a deep, penetrating mien. He trusted that Mac knew his people because Hotch knew McCallister was that kind of man.

"I think that once hearing the news that his team was murdered and that he and Frankie are most likely in danger as well, it will practically set him on fire. And boy, he creates magic when he's rolling." Mac said honestly. He nodded again. "I'll bring it up, after, y'know..."

"What about the other non-registered case?" Hotch asked Morgan.

But before Morgan could even grab the file, the door of the Glass Room swung open and revealed a pale, dark blond, skinny man with deep, dark brown eyes, wearing black jeans (ripped the fabric above the right knee), a light denim shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and worn, black All-stars. His eyes were wide, his heart beating feverishly in the vein in his neck and his chest moving up and down in a rapid pace.

"Is it true?" He demanded to know with his rather high pitched, cracked but usual sound. His eyes were accompanied by large, blue bags, but nevertheless were fierce and powerful.

"Miles." McCallister pleaded as he stood up.

Milo 'Miles' Bronckovic raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "So it is true?" He said eventually, clearly emotional. "Wills? And Lewy and Cuba?" He asked confused. McCallister must have known there was no use in trying to persuade the man to go somewhere else 'to talk about it', because the less he did, the more confirmation it gave the young agent.

"Where?" Miles demanded to know.

"The underground parking lot in Wills' apartment building."

"Jesus." He muttered. He let go of the door and started pacing. "Jesus, sweet mother of God. Why? Do you know why yet?" He covered his mouth with his hand, perhaps trying to regain his composure, perhaps trying to prevent himself from swearing. He noticed Hotch, Morgan and JJ in the room and shortly raised his hand. "Sorry. Hi, to you. Too."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Miles." Hotch said to him.

"Well, it's not like I already packed the fucking suit, eh?" Came the reply, drenched in sarcasm and to the profilers it was obvious that he tried really hard to handle the devastating news but was barely holding on. "Why were they killed Mac? Is it retaliation, is it that scumbag drug lord we took down a couple of months ago? Or that arrogant pervert, y'know, the one that liked to assault old ladies in their bedrooms?"

McCallister sighed again as he turned to the table and grabbed the file.

"Mac." Hotch called out to him, his voice somewhat low with the intention of questioning his proposed actions. Because Hotch knew where this was going. Unfortunately, but obviously, Miles caught on.

"What? What's going on?"

"He deserves to know." McCallister simply replied to Hotch and he handed the file to his SCU agent.

Wearily, Miles opened it and looked at it. His eyes grew big once he found the pictures. He paused his actions as he stared at the first photos, but then seemed to shake off the idea that this were his friends and that there were dead, Hotch judged by the way he moved through the rest of the case file. He threw the file back on the table once he reached the end. Rubbing both his chin as the top of his head with his hands, he looked down.

"You know who he is?" Hotch asked.

Miles nodded, pocketing his hands. "Ya. The Christian Killer. Fuck."

"He's believed to have died." Morgan commented. His hand was resting mid-air as he propped his elbow on the table.

Miles sighed, rubbed his face and sat down. "We knew. But it was never confirmed. So when young, blonde women started disappearing, we started investigating."

"That's the other case file." Morgan commented dryly, holding up the file as a gesture towards McCallister and Hotch.

"Why didn't you inform me of this?" Mac wanted to know.

"Because we weren't sure of the connection. Two women disappeared from the Atlanta area and the others popped up when we expanded our search. We considered it more a preliminary search, so to speak."

"What about the investigation into the Christian Killer? Why didn't Wills register that one? It's not like it was a high profile case." Mac continued further.

Miles sighed. He rubbed his face again. "Because Frankie wanted it off the books. To make sure nobody knew we were looking into the case."

"Frankie?" JJ repeated the name with surprise.

"Wills didn't know. We kept it from her." Miles suddenly frowned and shot up from his chair. "Wait a minute, where is Frankie? If they were murdered, it's most likely they were fucking targeted. That means Frankie could be a target as well."

"We're trying to locate her." Hotch informed him. He tilted his head to the side and showed an apologetic expression. "Have you been in contact with her recently?"

Miles' eyes went big and his mouth fell open. "You don't know where she is?" He looked at Mac. "That means, for all we know, she's already dead!"

"Miles, Miles." McCallister raised his hand and made shushing movements. "I have team Two and Three on it. You know how good Trace is. If there's anyone outside this room able to find her, it's Trace. They're looking."

"They're looking. As in – she's gone. Frankie's always around, she's as much part of this city as the fucking curbs or the lamp posts, she couldn't leave even if she wanted to. How could she just fall of the face of the fucking earth, Mac? That's not like Frankie."

"Do you have any idea of where she is?" Hotch asked him.

He shook his head. "No. I mean, I have a number, it's not her regular number, but I'm not sure if she'll check it soon enough."

"Call her." Hotch ordered and nodded meaningfully.

But instead of moving, Miles looked down at his hands. When he looked up, his eyes were troubled. He wanted to say something, but changed his mind and grabbed his phone from his pocket.

"Frankie, it's me." Pause. "Listen, I need you to call me as soon as you get this. Okay? Just-... Call me. Bye."

At the same time, Hotch' phone rang and he picked up. Morgan, Reid and JJ glanced at their leader, expecting bad news. "All right. We'll be right there."

All eyes in the room were casted towards Hotch. "Prentiss and Rossi came up empty in Wills apartment. Rossi had a hunch and moved to Abby's old apartment. They found something. He insisted that we take a look at it ourselves."

"If you take your guys - and lady, excuse me-" Mac raised his hands in defence when his eyes interlaced with JJ's, "I'll stay with the nerds and we'll try to make sense of this mess."

"If it's all the same to you," JJ said as she looked up to Hotch, "I'd like to stay. Work this angle." She told him, referring to the off-the-record case file of several murdered girls. Hotch nodded and nodded again when he looked at McCallister.

"Go." The man told him, but once again the door was opened forcefully.

"There's something going on with the note." Reid immediately said as he marched into the room. He placed the note on the scanner, which allowed the note to pop up on the large screen. He didn't wait for someone to ask or invite him to start but just did.

" _I've got my darlings Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday'_ suggests that he has reconnected with his victims that he took on the right day of the week. Whether he actually got to the girls again, I'm not sure of because we still have to locate the survivors. _Saturday is close_ means that he's getting closer towards reconnecting with the girl taken and released on Saturday, who would be Evelyn Parker, who can't be found. The use of the word 'close' is interesting, because it suggests that he doesn't have her yet, but that he's moving in. He's also using the present tense, _is_ , which means that he's doing it right now. Then he demotes you two by only using the word 'agents' and not using your full titles – special agent, supervisory special agent, nothing. That suggests that he either doesn't think very highly of you and feels he's superior, or that he's referring to the old days, when you didn't have that title and status just yet. Then, it gets really interesting-"

Miles broke contact with Reid and glanced at his supervisor, almost with a sarcastic look on his face. McCallister didn't respond, but the look in his eye and the small smile around the corner of his lips was enough.

" _I will have my darling back_ , darling, not darling _s_ , but darling. He's referring to Sunday, who he can't get to, just yet. The following line ' _Welcome to the Conquest_ ' is apart from obviously religious, also indicating that he's willing to fight over 'Sunday' and considers getting her is a conquest. In the Bible, the Conquest was often associated with the conquest being God to bring his people into the Promised Land. 'Sunday', could be his Promised Land. There are two theories about the Promised Land, one suggesting that the Promised Land is God's inheritance and two, the land being actually a holy mountain that lies on the juncture of heaven and earth and is where the gods abide. He's challenging you." Reid concluded and took a deep breath. Then he noticed Miles. "Sorry. Hi."

Miles only smiled and raised his hand. "You left a part out." He told him.

Reid nodded, tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and looked at Hotch. He starting talking in a slower pace, his voice lower, almost afraid of the repercussion of his words. " _I want my Sunday back_. Once again, he degrades his victims to days of the week, almost as if he owns them, but you can't actually own a day of the week, which means there has to be an underlying meaning to it. He's using the days of the week to nickname his victims. Since he is directing himself towards Hotch and Mac suggests that he thinks that you have Sunday, or that you're getting in his way to get to Sunday. Problem is, Zoe Price is most likely dead... So that could mean that he left her alive but that she was never found and that he now thinks we have her."

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
 _Sunday.  
_ 17.26

The ride had been long and quiet. Even though Abby Scott lived only 10 minutes from her place of work, the road seemed to stretch out in front of them, making miles of mere inches. Reid sat in the back of the car, his elbow popped up against the door, his head resting on a relaxed fist as he almost absent-mindedly stared outside. Morgan had caught Hotch looking at the younger man multiple times now, but so far, they both kept quiet. As Hotch pulled the car to a halt, parking right in front of Abby's old apartment building, he sighed softly before finding the image of Reid in the rear view mirror.

"You wanna tell us what's on your mind kid?" He asked kindly.

Reid responded to the sound of his boss' voice almost sleepily. He glanced at both men before shrugging. But he didn't utter a word.

"Look, I understand that this is a sensitive subject to you-" Reid had wanted to interrupt, but Hotch quickly raised his hand. "and I'm glad that it seems like you're back on our side, but I need to know if you've got your head in the right place. I don't want you to get hurt." Hotch admitted. _Again._

"Hotch, I was never not on your side." Reid replied almost laughing. He looked down and fidgeted with his hands to avoid his supervisor's looks.

"Reid." Morgan started, his voice deep, soothing and gentle. He did always know which button to press when it concerned the young genius.

"That case file." Reid hesitantly begun.

"What about it?" Hotch asked.

"It's just… As a person, I think that we all have different words to describe Frankie, but as an FBI agent, how would you describe her?"

"Driven." Morgan responded, almost instantly.

Hotch took his time to answer, suddenly understanding what Reid was pointing at. "Thorough. Methodical."

This time, it was Morgan shifting his gaze from one man to the other, not catching their drift. Reid looked at him, almost apologetic. "Frankie's not the type of FBI agent" He carefully avoided to use the word 'person', "that would _not_ document whatever she was doing. It's part of her work routine, she must always have proof of everything she's done and she must always have a reliable source, one that she can backtrack, when her cases go to court. She wouldn't create half a file, especially not on a case that concerns five dead women."

"So that case file we found, the one that Miles said was something preliminary on several murdered women in the area, that could be a diversion or fake." Morgan summed up, catching on.

Hotch briefly closed his eyes, awaiting Reid's response, already knowing what he was going to say. Reid pursed his lips. "I think it is a breadcrumb." Morgan didn't reply and could only look at his partner. "I think she has left that breadcrumb because she feels unsafe. Someone's watching her. She's involved in something much bigger than we originally expected. It's quite possible her stalker has been following her for a longer period, long before she came to the BAU, more intensively, and that Louisa Delgado wasn't his first victim."

Abby had known about her stalker when she was arrested by Atlanta PD. It was the whole reason why she made sure to obstruct their every course of action, why she wouldn't talk, why she lied to them. Not to keep the stalker safe, but to make sure her then team wouldn't go after him. Or, as the case was in reality, that it would take Hotch and his team too long to figure it out. By the time they had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together, they had to let Abby go but had no solid leads to continue the investigation themselves and her stalker was long gone. Hence they were left with only one option: to turn it over to Atlanta PD. In the end, that was Abby's game plan. She needed the BAU team out of the picture. The reason why remained unclear, but there was something nagging at their brains, something stirring deep inside of them ever since they left Atlanta and Abby Scott. As Morgan's brain raced, he tried to think of different reasons. He tried different scenarios in his head, but his mind could only revolve around one particular question.

"If that's the case," He started. "Then she must have known about her stalker before she came to the BAU." He looked at his leader, the man he had trusted through everything, despite lies or falsities. The question hurt him more than he wanted. He finally realised that his gut had been right all along; he was missing something. "Hotch, is that why she came to the BAU?"

He knew his supervisor wouldn't be able to answer that question. He wasn't expecting an answer, even, he just wanted to say the words, let it out, if only just to release the pressure that was building up inside of him. Hotch looked at him with a look that told Morgan all he needed to know. Hotch too, had known something was up. He had spotted the looks on her face whenever she received mail. Whenever her phone rang and she didn't recognise the number. She wiped those emotions off her face as quickly as they appeared, but he had seen them. Vividly, he could recall the colouring of her skin growing colder, how her eyes had hardened. How it always seemed like she was the quietest person in the room, and yet he often thought he could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

"I don't know." Hotch still answered. He knew Morgan wasn't expecting him to answer that question. Just like he knew both men in the car. Just like he knew that Abby Scott didn't only carry her own secrets and demons with her and into his team, she also unwillingly taught the two men closest to her to do the same. How to walk with that heavy burden in silence. Without another word, Morgan sighed and opened the door, getting out of the car. Hotch and Reid had one last look at each other through the mirror, sharing the same question ' _How is it all connected?',_ before exiting the vehicle as well.

Once again, the path towards Abby's old loft was long, and quiet.

Rossi's highly sensitive detectors could easily see that something had happened between the threesome that approached them as they stepped off the metallic sounding elevator. Prentiss, looking not half as smart as she really was, casted her eyes in his direction when he met them halfway, but both agents didn't say anything about it. Probably because they knew they had more bad news to deliver. Hotch, Reid and Morgan stopped in front of their colleagues, who seemed hesitant to move. It didn't take long before Hotch' weary mien went over their faces.

"What's going on?"

Rossi sighed, chewed on the inside of his lip and spoke as he moved to open the door. "I think that we should be the ones asking that question." He looked at Morgan directly, his eyes piercing, strong and fierce. Prentiss looked at the floor between Reid's shoes as Rossi opened up the door to Abby's apartment.

Unable to see the image from such a distance, the three just arrived agents stepped into the large room. Prentiss and Rossi followed close behind, closing the loft's door again. This was a matter of privacy.

"What the-" Morgan uttered as his eyes flew over the photos. They were everywhere. They covered every spare space on the wall, several pieces of furniture and parts of the floor, all in colour and enlarged to the size of a piece of paper.

"That's you, Morgan." Rossi commented harshly. Morgan turned to face him and wanted to open his mouth to speak, Rossi beat him to it. "I think it's time you explain to us what the hell is going on."

They were all over the apartment. Smiling together, walking the dogs, making out like wild teenagers late at night before stumbling into either of their homes. To the outsider, it may have looked like a happy relationship. But Morgan knew better, and he knew that whatever he had with Abby wasn't a relationship – it was just sex and those fleeting moments before and after. And so their moments in between, the cups of coffee drank together, the walks in the park, the laughing and joking on the streets – that was even more personal than the time they spent between the sheets. Those moments were part of his shaky, unsteady but intense and solid friendship with the British American. Those were his most precious memories of her. That hurt the most, but not solely that. Because the photos of them, together, kissing, touching, feeling, rubbing and moving were another low blow to the gut. His most intimate moments, his most intimate moments with Abby, were the ones he shared when they were half or completely naked. And this soulless bastard had captured that all. Anything and everything that had made Abby so special to him, had been caught on camera. The way she could look at him, with that mischievous smirk on her face, the look in her eyes that gave him the shivers and the feeling like she could see right through him, the way she could tenderly – so unlike her character – caress his skin as she patiently listened to his words or his heartbeat – again so unlike her character. She was a different person to him, worlds apart from the girl that he and his colleagues knew from work and he had wanted to keep that to himself. He had never told anyone about them; about those little, intimate moments that he shared with her that made her such a special person to him. He hadn't even told Hotch. He wouldn't have told Hotch even if his job depended on it. Those with _his_ moments with _his_ Abby and they both knew that. And here they hung upon the wall, displayed to the world – to his colleagues - to see.

Morgan felt like his back was pressed against the wall and there was someone at his throat. He felt incredibly exposed and in a way, hurt. This had been their little secret. Not so much the sleeping around, but their kindness towards each other and here it was. His knuckles itched and his fingernails were digging into his skin. He could almost taste the blood in his mouth. Never before had he wanted an Unsub so badly. Never before had it been _this_ personal.

"How long have you two been sleeping together?" Rossi asked, his voice still loud, clear and sharp.

"This ended. Months ago." Morgan shot back, surprising himself with his aggressive and fierce tone.

"Wait a minute, you knew?" Prentiss suddenly blurted out, surprise written on her face as she looked at Hotch and realised that he didn't look all that taken aback.

He could only look at her as he shrugged. "Of course I knew. I'm surprised nobody else knew."

"I knew." Reid said, the loudness of his voice faltering when he reached the end of his sentence, as if he got scared of the strength of his own voice halfway through.

"Why did you never do anything about it?" Prentiss asked in disbelieve.

"I trusted Morgan." Hotch simply, but sharply, answered - ending the conversation with Prentiss right then and there. However, Rossi wouldn't be pushed aside that easily.

"My question still stands, Morgan."

He licked his lips and ran his hand over his head, turning his body 90 degrees and away from the man asking the questions. "A couple of months."

"Just a couple?" Rossi snapped back sarcastically.

"Four, five months." Morgan admitted as he raised his voice slightly in frustration.

"We could have used this back in Atlanta, Morgan." Rossi told him sternly. "We could have used your personal connection to her."

"Excuse me?" Came the offended reaction and his hands curled up into a fist again.

"Instead, you chose to protect her." Rossi was almost yelling now, trying to draw Morgan out. He knew he was getting to the dark man by the visible agitation seen in his behaviour and actions.

"I was not protecting her." Morgan tried, and though he sounded convincing, Rossi had him cornered.

"Sure you were! I wonder though, what you'll do when she's the one with the gun pointed at one of us."

"That's enough Rossi!"

"Is it?" Rossi was almost squinting as he was verbally attacking the younger agent. He was angry and though everyone in the room knew he had every right to be angry, it didn't feel right. "Not only did you risk your job by sleeping with your colleague, you've been lying to us, sneaking around with her and breaking protocol. That same colleague also just happens to have lied about pretty much everything. How can we know for sure that you're on our side?!"

"Because she lied to me too!" Morgan yelled back. The threat from Rossi's face disappeared instantly as he had him right where he wanted to. His verbal attack wasn't so much an attack as it was an open invitation for Morgan finally let out some of the emotions he had been building up. "She lied to me too, Rossi. Not a single word she told me was true. She played me like she played everyone else. Only I was the only one foolish enough to sleep with her."

"I'm sorry." Rossi said gently and in sharp contrast with the tone of voice he had used earlier.

"I'm sure you are." Morgan spat back at him.

"Look," Prentiss started with that diplomatic voice she had mastered so well and instantly diffused the situation. "Morgan, if you two were involved for at least four months, that means whoever's been stalking her has been doing so for that same amount of time, at least."

"Yeah, we already figured that out." Reid softly commented. "At the SCU, Abby was working two different cases off the books and in the dark. She never told either Wills or McCallister about it. However, she did trust Miles enough to work with them. One case-"

"The Christian Killer?" Prentiss guessed.

"Yes. The other concerned the death of several blonde girls in the area. JJ's looking into that back at the SCU, with Garcia. However..." Reid paused, shifted his gaze towards Hotch, who gave him an unseen, encouraging nod, and then continued. "Frankie's the type of FBI agent that makes notes of everything. She puts it all down on paper or on the computer so that when her case goes to court, she'll have all the proof and the right, _reliable_ sources. Leaving a case file like the one we found, half empty and basically, just vague altogether." He let his voice trail off and let the rest do the thinking.

"She's meticulous. Highly organised." Rossi stopped as his thoughts consumed most of his attention. "It's not just any case. It's a lead." He concluded as his mind was still working and he looked at Hotch.

"We" Hotch shortly glanced at Reid again, "think it's a breadcrumb that Abby left specifically." Rossi nodded at none in particular.

"Either that, or she felt it was too important, or too dangerous to leave it at the SCU. If she felt threatened, she could have kept the full file somewhere else and left a basic case file as a copy at HQ." Prentiss supplied thoughtfully.

"Still." Morgan suddenly said. "It doesn't explain all of this."

He looked around Abby's former loft and remembered some of the memories that were printed out before him. He noticed too quickly for his own liking that he smiled on most pictures. He seemed happy. And even though he looked at Abby and saw her smiling, he couldn't help but wonder if that was what she really was too. If her smile was real, if her happiness was real. But then he started to notice the pictures that he _wasn't_ in. The way it seemed like Abby was constantly looking around, glancing over her shoulder, checking reflections in mirrors. They all knew that she'd done more than what her resume said. Just like they all believed that there was a reason why half her personal file was classified. It was for the same reason why the team had so much trouble and struggle with accepting her; they all knew that she was a chameleon. That she could change into someone else instantly. It was obvious to even an untrained eye that she'd been involved in heavy action. Why else would she carry two Glocks, a brand that was known for not having a safety trigger, around – one strapped to her right upper leg, the other tucked away behind the waistband of her jeans – have a back-up gun holstered around her left ankle and an army knife tucked away against her right calf? He remembered the time Prentiss joked that she wouldn't be surprised if Abby had a bomb in her backpack as well.

As he took a better look at the pictures, the sounds of Hotch, Rossi and Prentiss talking on the background slowly fading, he began to notice the details. Or rather – the lack of it. She was always at a different place; she never got her coffee from the same store on the same day, she would often change her way of transportation as she switched between her rental car, the subway and the bus, and Morgan swore he even believed that he could tell she had backtracked her route to make sure nobody was following her. However, he also noticed that her stalker was too smart to get caught easily. He was always at a safe distance, sometimes shot from behind a group of people in order to fade into the blur. There were many different angles, suggesting that he was constantly switching his position.

"Morgan." Reid called out to him a second time and Morgan pulled himself out of the distortion of images in front of him. He spotted the young genius a few feet away, looking at photos that had been laid down on the floor. He approached Reid and looked at the picture Reid pointed out. Morgan was sitting with his back to the photographer, who seemed to be shooting through the window overlooking Abby's open kitchen back in Dumfries, near Quantico. He could see the two mugs on the kitchen island and Abby sitting opposite of him, holding an icepack against her shoulder.

"That was after our first case. I went by the check up on her." Morgan explained.

"He _has_ been stalking her longer than we originally thought. As you can see, there are a lot of photographs with the same time stamp, which means that he was already stalking her quite intensively. You don't simply start of like that; he must have been following her long before she came to the BAU." Reid stated.

"He followed her everywhere man." Morgan commented off-minded as he once again let his eyes go around the room.

"You should check out the bedroom." Prentiss suddenly told him softly as she appeared behind them. Morgan looked at her for a second and headed towards the bedroom, once again an open space, separated from the living room only by a large shoji privacy screen. As he turned around it, his eyes went wide. Pictures covered him and Abby kissing, taking off each other's clothes, stumbling into the bedroom – basically, they covered every private thing they had ever done together that wasn't in the safety of their bedroom.

"This isn't an ordinary stalker, Derek." Prentiss' voice was friendly as she once again appeared behind him.

Morgan's jaw stiffened and his expression grew dark. "He is obsessed with her." He turned to face her and observed the look on her face. "What is it?"

Prentiss sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "When we saw what Abby's stalker had done to this place, we figured he must have been to her home in Quantico as well. So Rossi called the BAU and had Todd check it out. And we were right. Her home there was covered in photos like these as well."

"My God. No wonder she was so secretive."

"Suddenly puts things in perspective."

"Still doesn't justify anything." Morgan replied, probably more to himself than to Prentiss. He looked at her again with a frown on his gentle face. "What about her dog, Bird?"

Prentiss mirrored his frown. "Her dog? There wasn't a dog on the premises."

"She often asked her neighbours to watch him when she was away on a case." Morgan remembered.

"Okay." She nodded. "I'll call Todd to check on it."

When Prentiss walked away and stood in the corner of the living room while calling Todd, Morgan regrouped with Rossi, Hotch and Reid. Rossi sent him a small nod, as if apologising for his hard treatment earlier. Morgan acknowledged his strange apology, but didn't actually respond in any kind of way. A few minutes passed as Hotch was on the phone with JJ and Rossi, Reid and Morgan could only look around the room, studying the photographs from where they were standing, silently, with their minds working at top speed. Hotch hung up and the three agents looked at him.

"That was JJ. They have something." There was an uncanny tension in Hotch' voice. Whatever JJ had found, it must have been big. But just before anyone could react to it, Prentiss approached the group.

"I just got off the phone with Todd. Abby's dog, Bird, was picked up by a man six weeks ago. Neighbours didn't recognise the man, but eventually gave him the dog. He sounded very convincing."

"Six weeks ago?" Reid repeated as his face twisted in confusion.

"Yeah. The day after Atlanta PD arrested Abby for murder." Prentiss already figured out.

* * *

 _December 27_ _th_ _.  
_ _6 weeks ago.  
_ _Candice drive, Dumfries, near Quantico, Virginia.  
_ _02.17_

 _Abby Scott closed the door of the cab behind her, as she looked up at her house. She waited until the cab drove off again, ready to pick up another fleeting passenger, before she dropped her bag to the ground and swiftly grabbed her gun from behind the waistband of her jeans. Her fingers smoothly slipped around the metal and she put her finger on the trigger. No protocol, no guidelines, no manual. If she saw him, she would shoot him. Instantly. She approached the house on light feet, her heart pounding in her chest and her eyes flashed over the details; the lights were only on near the door, which means he left them on as a warm welcome, but also sending a message. 'I was here'. Half her windows were covered in what looked like paper and she could spot the door being unlocked. What set her off most was the fact that the security system Miles had installed days after moving in, didn't seem to be operating as all cameras were turned off and pointed towards the ground._

 _She opened the door with her right foot, her gun out in front of her – elbows bent – and entered the house in stealth mode. She lost focus for a moment when her eyes found the many pictures – pictures of_ her _– but she shrugged it off. Within minutes she had cleared the house, moving from corner to corner, making sure to check closets, empty spaces and under her bed. When she stood in the middle of her living room she looked around. Abby couldn't understand how she had let this slip. How on earth had he gotten to her like this? Suddenly, she spotted the note on her kitchen counter. Fearing what it may read, she walked towards it slowly, her gun still in a tight grip, she could hear herself breathe. Her green eyes absorbed the words instantly and she realised she had just lost_ everything _._

" _Fuck!" She screamed as she kicked the island and slammed her gun into the surface seconds later. Angry and frustrated, she looked around, almost expecting him to be standing there somewhere, hiding between the trees. For a short, brief moment, she didn't know what to do. The metal of her black gun pressed against her head as she pushed both hands into her skull. For years, she had built a steady and rather colourful network of resources on which she could rely whenever she needed something. Anything. But now he had taken it all away from her and Abby realised that now, she was most exposed. She was most vulnerable now._

 _However, the feeling didn't last long. Over the years she had also created a steady basis of anger and determination, one that severed as a baseline so that whenever she had a sit back or someone kicked her to the ground, she would fall back onto that fundamental structure that had kept her alive. Almost automatically, it kicked in. Her heart started pumping again, pushing adrenaline through every tiny little vein and Abby felt like she was set on fire. It took her five minutes to clear her house of anything important and she sped to the back-up car she had parked about a mile into the woods. It was hard to find, but there was a small road leading further into the woods. He could have found it, but for some reason she was sure he either didn't, or didn't care. On her way out, she grabbed the note he had left for her and put it in her pocket. She had no intention of holding onto it, but it was evidence. And there was no need to read it again, because every word had been printed onto her brain._

" _Darling,_

 _I fixed your sink. It was about time you had that done. See you soon._

 _P.S. I hope you don't mind, I took Bird for a walk."_

* * *

February sixth.  
Same day.  
 _Sunday.  
_ 18.03

JJ didn't even hear them open the doors of the glass room, let alone approach, as she was hovering over a map of the United States. The red marker in her hand laid left useless somewhere in Alaska as the red dots she made on all important cities were burning in her eyes. She hadn't even noticed that she had some marker on her fingers. Garcia was busy behind two laptops, the strokes of the keyboard at first annoying JJ because of the rapid pace at which the buttons were pushed, but at some point, JJ forgot about the sound. Miles sat next to the blonde tech, also working feverishly, also behind two laptops. They would occasionally shift between their laptops as they tried their best to hack into Abby's personal laptop and home computer, the one that was placed on the middle of the table with wires spread across as if it were on life support, as a constant reminder that they needed to get into Abby's system. Especially now that they learnt that there was a high possibility of Abby leaving more traces behind on her computer - traces that could not only lead to her whereabouts, but might also provide them with some answers.

McCallister had created a wall dedicated to the case of the Christian Killer. Not to refresh his mind, or Hotch' for that matter, nor was it to help those that were less familiar with the case, but once again just to remind them why they would work through the night, function on coffee and anything that contained high levels of sugar and to instantly put an end to any possible groans, moans or complaining.

They had all been informed of their latest discoveries when JJ called Hotch, wanting to tell them the news. But Hotch had been too caught on about their new revelations, that she felt it was best if she called the troops back home before breaking the news. And so they appeared behind her, anxious to know what latest update there was.

"Has she been found yet?" Reid immediately wanted to know.

Mac looked up from his old notes, rubbing his eyes. "No, not yet." Miles briefly glanced at him. "But Trace, team Two's team leader, thinks she's got a good lead. They're chasing it down. Team Three is going through all sorts of paperwork, you should see their room, trying to figure out if Abby used any aliases or fake identities. I've called in some reinforcement, some people that we were considering to ask for the taskforce, some old favours, some pretty darn smart detectives. They're working on locating the victims, but, it doesn't look good."

"Okay. Make sure they know that finding his victims is a priority. JJ, what have you got?" Hotch asked.

JJ straightened herself out before turning to Garcia. "G, you mind?"

The blonde looked up from her computer screen. "Oh, yeah." With a few strokes on her keyboard, she activated the large map on the imposing wall screen. Again, red dots covered several states. As the team took in the map, JJ grabbed a large stack of files and started to name some of the cities. She tried to control the shivers that went up and down her back as pictures of young, blonde, murdered women popped up at every red dot.

"How did you find this?" Prentiss asked as she stared up at the screen.

Miles cleared his throat. "Frankie and I did a preliminary search when three blondes were found dead in their homes. They were all in their late 20s and dismembered. Coroner suspects that the victims died of blood loss. Their parts were found in their homes and backyards." He explained. "We found it suspicious because, well, obviously, this is the work of an experienced killer, not a newbie. So there had to be more. However, we didn't find any. I searched high and low and under every possible keyword, but we couldn't find any other victims that matched this particular, specific target. It wasn't until JJ thought of-" Miles abruptly stopped, looked down and seemed to shake off whatever overcame him. When he spoke again, his voice was clear. "It wasn't until JJ made the connection between Louisa's murder and the murder of these girls that we found something."

"Wait a minute, what connection?" Hotch questioned.

"All four women, including Louisa, were killed in the Atlanta area, just after 6 and were dismembered." JJ explained, saving Miles from the burden of having to say it again, even though he looked to be holding on just fine when she looked at him.

"That's a long stretch." Morgan commented.

"We know. But it turned out it wasn't long enough. Because of all victims, their heads were missing." The SCU agent replied sadly. Miles swallowed hard. For a moment, Hotch wondered how much therapy he would need to undergo to successfully overcome the extensive and intensive trauma he already had, was still and would be inflicting upon himself.

"Hotch." JJ requested his attention, drawing him away from the initial shock, as she displayed the files out in front of him, once again naming the cities. "Atlanta, Georgia. Nine months ago. Columbus, Mississippi. Eight months ago. Raleigh, North Carolina. Seven months ago. Idaho Falls, Idaho. Six months ago. Cleveland, Ohio. Six months ago. Detroit, Michigan. Five months ago. Seattle, Washington, Five months ago. Atlanta, Georgia. Four months ago. Boston, Massachusetts. Four months ago. Dallas, Texas, three months ago. Tulsa, Oklahoma. Two months ago. Chicago, Illinois. Two months ago. Atlanta, Georgia. Six weeks ago."

"That's every major city we've had a case since Frankie joined the team." Reid stated when his genius brain put it together.

"My God." Prentiss mumbled and she pressed her hand against her lips.

Rossi turned to meet Hotch. "We better suit up. We're hunting two Unsubs now. Abby's stalker _and_ the Christian Killer."

* * *

" _Come to the edge, He said. They said, We are afraid. Come to the edge, He said. They came. He pushed them... and they flew."  
_ Guillaume Apollinaire.


	8. Fear of Freedom

_"I became a virtuoso of deceit. It wasn't pleasure I was after, it was knowledge. I consulted the strictest moralists to learn how to appear, philosophers to find out what to think and novelists to see what I could get away with. And, in the end, I distilled everything down to one wonderfully simple principle: win or die."  
_ Christopher Hampton.

* * *

February seventh.  
Next day.  
Monday _.  
_ 06.34.

Spencer Reid rubbed his sore and dry eyes with his hand, holding onto the coffee in his other. Tired and lethargic, he sighed, sipping on the caffeine as he let the scenery pass him by. The past few months had been a rollercoaster for him. He had gone over it in his mind over and over again, not being able to make sense of anything. He had created anchor points, mentally, that provided him with a certain structure as to how this all had happened, how it evolved while he desperately sought for answers. He remembered so vividly in his mind the first time they had met.

* * *

 _June 18_ _th_ _.  
_ _BAU department, F.B.I. Office, Quantico.  
_ _08.00_

 _He was one of the first that spotted her, most likely because when he laid his eyes down upon her face, he was one of the few in the room that actually recognised her. Abby Scott, marching down the BAU headquarters, her dark hair in sharp contrast with her pale face and a backpack slung over her shoulders. He had seen her before, several times, when he had gone to lectures regarding criminal and psychological profiling. Though relatively unknown still, Abby Scott was one of the best in her field of expertise: violent crimes, human behaviour and interrogation, hence Reid tried to visit lectures she attended as often as he could. The bonus was that Abby worked a lot with profiling legends or other experts in their category, which meant that Reid would also deal with some of the best as he absorbed the words he was hearing._

 _He wondered what she was doing here as Abby approached Morgan's desk. In her thick and posh English accent, she asked him where she could find Hotch. Her grey-green eyes followed Morgan's directions and she headed towards the stairs after thanking him. She never laid her eyes upon the young genius, who figured she must have been here on business, instead of a social call. Then again, he noticed the way her eyes went over the bull pens, how she briefly glanced at the people in the room, eyeing them up and down as if investigating them._

 _She reappeared from Hotch' office a few minutes later. Her expression still seemed somewhat stiff and cold, but her bright eyes seemed more curious now than when she had walked through the doors of the BAU. As Reid stood in a circle with his fellow colleagues, discussing her presence, he suddenly interlaced his eyes with hers and felt exposed. She stared him down, her hawk-like eyes penetrating his mind with a certain determination and Reid finally understood why she had a way of making suspects talk. He smiled weakly and her gaze seemed to soften as her eyes went up and down his figure. She lost interest when she was introduced to JJ and quickly after, followed Rossi into the round table room._

 _Almost impatiently, he awaited his turn to be introduced to her by Hotch. Too quickly for his liking, he extended his hand when he heard his name. Her eyes held the same hardness, but lit up with the minute. Reid figured she must have been watching the way the cats jumped as she observed her new colleagues secretly and from a distance. However, once she laid his eyes on him for the second time that day, he was met by a warming smile as she shook his hand. She remembered, he thought, she remembered me. He felt happy that she did, and in a way privileged. It had been four years since they had worked together on a seminar concerning Robert Charles Browne, but not intensively and never stayed in touch. Even though he looked up to the woman of his age and probably of the same level of intelligence, he did catch himself feeling joyful as she sent him the only genuine smile till that point._

 _Reid smiled inwardly as he witnessed Abby picking a fight on her first day. She hadn't even been with the team for 10 minutes, but already challenged the alpha male in the room. She was mentally telling Morgan that she was the smartest person in the room and her eyes held a different emotion this time; pride and arrogance. As Reid studiously looked at her, he quickly discovered that Abby Scott was the type of person that could make you believe anything. She could control her muscles, even her facial muscles, to the extreme and almost deform her looks in order to deceive. But he knew right away that there was always something in her eyes. Her eyes just always seemed to tell the truth._

* * *

As he got to know her more and better and as he watched her interact with the team more and more, Reid had begun to realise that not everybody could see that little piece of truth in her eyes. He could, however, and at first he figured he must have been wrong. His desire to become friends with her must have outgrown his perception of reality. But as she started to grow darker and more disclosed, and as their friendship grew stronger, he was learning that he could in fact, see that something in her eyes, something only he could see. However, he was unsure if he could see it because he wanted to, because he was actually looking at her, or because she allowed him to see it. After the events in Atlanta, he realised that he could see it simply because he could. If he could have seen it because she wanted him to, then he would have stopped seeing the truth in her eyes a long time ago.

* * *

 _December 26_ _th_ _.  
_ _Wednesday.  
_ _Fulton Police Department.  
_ _00.04._

 _Pills. Self-medicating with pills. Reid had never thought that Abby would be one to do such a thing. But she had. With only minutes to spare before leaving for Quantico, Garcia discovered where the last phone call Louisa Delgado received before her death originated. A phone booth near the hotel they'd been staying at. The only good thing about the discovery was that they learnt about after proving Abby's innocence. If they had found out before, they would have realised that Abby in fact_ had _been able to sneak out of the hotel without being seen by the security cameras. Reid had always found it odd that Abby mentioned the near impossibility of doing so in one of her first interviews with Hotch. A security camera on the other side of the block had managed to capture her. It was only vaguely and for the split of a second, but they recognised her. Abby had called Louisa. Hotch connected the dots before anybody else could. Perhaps because he was already in the right mind set. Perhaps because he already knew that Abby Scott had slipped right through his fingers and was heading down towards a massive crash. An addiction only seemed fitting. And as Reid was watching her from behind the one-way glass, how she failed to reject and fight the accusation, he understood that Hotch had been right._

 _Reid had been addicted to a specific medication himself. Abby knew that for he had told her. So when he imagined Abby going down the rabbit hole, he wondered why she had never come to him. That wonder vaporised when he saw the look in her eyes after Hotch left. She watched the open door for a moment, unable to move or portray any kind of emotions. But then she looked up and stared at herself in the mirror. She didn't think anyone was standing behind it, or even if someone had, she must have figured they had left because the look she shared with herself was one of honesty. And Reid could see her change right then and there. The greyness in her eyes seemed to take over as he witnessed her grow cold. Cold, stark and emotionless. The Abby he knew, Reid thought, died in front of him that day._

 _Or at least that's how it felt to him as he came to terms with the fact that he could no longer see the truth in her eyes. He could no longer see that light._

* * *

Reid looked at the file in his hand. He was unsure of his intentions to bring it along. He knew he had questions for her. The file was more than incomplete and only contained some basic details. Three murdered women. Reid couldn't understand why Abby would keep that under the radar, why she would refuse to put the case in the system, if only for the sake of it being _there_ , so that if she failed, someone else might pick it up. He told himself that he was sure Abby held a copy of the complete file, the original file, on her own computer. But that was just because his profile of her said that. It wasn't because he actually believed it himself. No. He figured Abby was more of the 'secret basement' kind of type, where she could keep hardcopies of whatever files she had hid. Us geniuses, he thought, we like to have things in our hands when looking at it. Still, despite his head constantly overruling his heart, he knew his gut was right when he figured that it had to be some kind of lead. He knew her too well for that – if Abby hadn't wanted anyone figuring out about the case, or about her working on it, she wouldn't have kept a file where they could find it in the first place. It would be in that secret bunker, or stuffed underneath the passenger's seat in a car that she had registered under someone else's name so that they wouldn't find it.

She was leaving him breadcrumbs and he was finally realising that she did that because she knew Reid could look into her eyes and see that something. Perhaps that was the reason why she was trying so hard to keep him at bay. As he finished his coffee, he looked at the man in front of him. Morgan had his hand rested on top of the steering wheel as he followed the other black SUV over the country road, the sun peering through the trees. Suddenly, he could feel Morgan looking at him from behind his shades. When Reid kept looking at the reflection in the rear view mirror, Morgan took off his glasses and looked back at him. He look was questioning and worrisome.

"I lied." Reid said.

Morgan only frowned and Hotch, who sat in the passenger's seat, turned around.

"I did talk to her. Once. It was the day before she disconnected her phone. She told me that I needed to stop harassing her and that she would get me my money back soon."

"Abby owes you money?" Morgan asked.

Reid shook his head. "No, that's the strangest part. She doesn't. She was always paying so if anybody owed anyone any money, I owed her."

"Then why would she tell you that she would get you your money?" Hotch questioned him.

"I don't know. All I know is that the next day, I wanted to call her again and she had her phone disconnected. I tried to email her, but her email account was disbanded. If she had a faxing machine, she would have disconnected it too. It doesn't make sense."

Hotch sighed and looked at his young genius almost apologetic, a look he had been giving Reid too many times now. "I don't know Reid."

"You think she's still alive?"

Again, Hotch looked at him and replied. "I don't know."

* * *

 _February 7_ _th_ _.  
_ _Same day.  
_ _Monday.  
_ _05.46._

" _I found her."_

 _Garcia's comment was drenched in disbelieve. Her big eyes stared at her laptop and she didn't move. It was almost as if she was too afraid to move, as if that would make the discovery on her laptop somehow vanish. Miles on the other hand, he wasn't afraid to move as he pushed his chair to look at the screen._

 _Just after midnight, Garcia had found a way into Abby's laptop, but quickly ended the celebrations; entry to Abby's full system was still denied and protected with massive cyber walls, and that little piece of access Garcia had been granted only left her with a pop up screen that requested a username and password. Since there was no limit to the amount of false passwords entered, Garcia and Miles entered whatever they could think of and added the team's suggestions afterwards. But nothing worked and they came up empty handed. They tried to hack into the system for another hour when they decided to give up and try to get some sleep. It was then that a small symbol on Garcia's screen caught Miles' eye._

 _Without saying a word, he clicked on it and instantly, the computer granted them access to the other side of the security protection, as if the screen was flipped around. The username was suddenly filled in, only leaving the password. However, the username gave them plenty of direction as Garcia read it out loud._

" _Hotchner, A."_

 _Hotch immediately gave Garcia directions to insert his password of the FBI. Garcia sighed as the laptop refused her further access. They continued to try; birthdays, special events, names, numbers, anything that meant anything to Hotch. Miles even went through the national database to find other Hotchner, A's but no matter what they tried, they came up empty._

" _There has got to be something that we're missing." Morgan told himself, his face still as handsome as always, despite the lack of sleep. He was staring at the screen, sitting next to his beloved Garcia, who gave him the cup of coffee JJ handed her. The team spun around when they heard a tap on the glass doors and Felisha Trace, leader of SCU Team Two, appeared through the opening._

" _Boss." She addressed McCallister. "We think we've got something, you may wanna take a look."_

 _McCallister got up from his chair, surprisingly fast considering it was half past 4 and they had yet to catch some sleep. He left the room without another word, leaving the BAU team behind. If it was a real, solid lead, SSA Trace would have either told them on the spot, or at least motioned for Hotch to come as well. No, it was just 'something' that they had. Nothing specific. Nothing special._

" _Miles." Hotch said to the second brilliant computer technician. "Is there anything you can think of, any sort of habit of Abby's, a particular kind of way she would write something down like cop short hand, anything?"_

 _Miles made a sound as he pressed his head against his hands. "I'm thinking, I'm thinking."_

" _How long have you known her?" Rossi suddenly asked him._

 _He clearly didn't understand where the question was coming from as he raised his head again and briefly looked at Rossi. "Uhm, since we were 16. We graduated together."_

" _So that was after the time she was using drugs and partied too hard." Prentiss concluded, remembering from Abby's original profile that she had dropped out of school at the age of 15 and went back a year later. She had stated to Morgan and Reid months before that she has had a period of 'too much fun'._

" _Not exactly." Miles replied after he snorted at her comment. "We'd still do drugs and go to parties. Fuck, I still can't remember what shit we pulled on our Graduation night."_

" _Wait a minute, the drugs and the raves, that continued after she went back to school?" Morgan pressed._

" _Yeah. Worst thing was, even though she did like two or three years in a year and a half, she was smart enough that she could ace all her tests and party just as hard."_

" _Then why did she drop out? We assumed that she had dropped out of school because of her drug problems." Morgan thought out loud._

" _What'd she say to you?" Hotch wanted to know from Abby's best friend._

 _Miles shrugged. "I didn't know about it until we joined the FBI together, which was seven years after we had met. She threw me a mysterious smile, cracked a joke, said she'd tell me one day when she was drunk enough and I forgot about it." He looked around the room. "Look, there's something about Frankie… She's mysterious. Always has been. If you think you know her, then you're fucked because that means that you don't know her at all and that she's tried her best to make it that way. She has secrets. I don't know_ everything _about her, just like she doesn't know_ everything _about me. We accepted that, because we served together." He looked at Rossi, knowing fully well that Rossi had served as well. "Some things you don't want to share. And that's fine. So when she didn't want to tell me, I dropped it and forgot about it. I knew that if it was important, she would have told me."_

" _Okay. So you applied to the FBI Academy together?" Rossi continued._

" _Yeah. Our ways parted there, for a while at least. Frankie was heading into the field. CIRG handpicked her right out of the Academy. I worked for several FBI departments as a technical analyst before I landed a job here. Frankie quickly followed. Harrison had noticed her work and wanted her in. So. Laurel and Hardy were reunited."_

" _And you stayed in touch?"_

" _We had lived together all that time. Well," Miles corrected himself. "I moved in with Franks. Into the loft."_

" _She didn't speak much about her work here. She must have really loved it." Rossi said._

" _Oh, she did. This place was everything to her. She loved it. She had her research here, her cold cases, she knew the area, she knew the people, she had the action and trained her brain on a daily basis. She was meant to-" He stopped abruptly. They could see his mind working through his eyes. "Try 06072012." He told Garcia, who put in the password._

" _That's the day before Abby started at the BAU." Reid commented softly, looking at Hotch as Garcia pressed enter._

 _She was granted access._

 _But their treasure was much less than what they had expected._

" _All roads lead to Rome, but make sure they don't lead back home." JJ read out loud after Garcia had opened the single file she had now access to._

 _Prentiss glanced at Miles, who shrugged. "Frankie did always like her riddles."_

" _Any special connection to Rome?" The brunette asked._

" _I went to Rome with Louis a few years back. I don't think Frankie's ever been there. We don't know anybody from there, or anybody going there apart from on a holiday. I'm afraid we're down to facts and statistics again." He said as he looked at Reid._

" _What's the importance of June seventh and me?" Hotch suddenly questioned._

 _The young and only living member of SCU Team One sighed and ran his hand over his face. "It's the day that she found out she was being transferred. She'd been in Mac's office for an hour, the two of them yelling at each other, screaming their fucking heads off. Eventually, things settled down and she promised Mac that she'd go but only under one condition."_

" _That she'd be transferred to the BAU." JJ guessed with a small voice._

" _Yeah. She told me first, in private. We stood outside, smoked a dozen cigarettes and just.. Talked. She was pretty upset about leaving, I mean, she loved this place. This was her home. And then she said 'The only good thing that will come out of this, is that I'll get to work with Aaron Hotchner'." He looked at the man with a look on his face that told Hotch so many things, yet he knew he was missing that one thing Miles' expression was trying to tell him. And still, despite the fact that his gut told him he was missing something, Hotch felt a little tug at his heart._

" _If she would have enjoyed working with Hotch so much, with the BAU, then why did she lie to us?" Morgan asked._

 _Miles stood up from his chair, pocketed his hands, sighed again and rested against the glass wall. When he looked at the dark man, his eyes were at their most honest. "She has known about her stalker for over three years, which is about the same amount of time we think that he's been following her. Do you know what it means to Abby that there's been someone, some stranger that has been invading her privacy, diminishing everything she did, for_ three _fucking years? She's Abby Franklin Scott. You know her. She's arrogant in the sense that she knows precisely what she's capable of and doesn't mind showing it. She's the SCU's pride, she's_ the _best agent and person that I will ever work with, in my entire life and that's saying something, because I've worked with both Trevor Harrison and David McCallister. For over three years, someone's been trying to crawl underneath her skin and she is unable to catch him. Do you have any idea what that does to Frankie?" Though he spoke out of love and respect for his friend, his words were harsh. "Thing is, Frankie's one of the most amazing people I know, because she's so fucking easy. She's simple. If she doesn't like you, she doesn't like you. If she wants beer and pizza for breakfast, she'll have beer and pizza for breakfast. If she doesn't want to talk, she won't talk and if she doesn't want you to know, then you won't know. There is some crazy ass stalker after her, that's killing people and she can't catch him. That's not simple and it's driving her mad."_

" _Did her stalker kill Louisa?" Reid blurted out._

" _I'm pretty sure he did, yeah. Why?" Miles replied sharply._

" _All the girls Frankie's stalker has killed were blondes. Louisa wasn't a blonde. So the stalker not only kills those that he feels will get in the way of him getting to Frankie, he also kills for fun. Almost as if he's leaving these gifts for Frankie."_

" _But he killed those girls_ after _we had left the city." Prentiss remarked. "As if he left behind a calling card." She realised. "Which means that those girls were business. Louisa was personal."_

" _That means that Louis' murder could be crucial to the investigation." Miles concluded, nodding as he did._

" _So how does Rome fit in the picture?" Garcia questioned, glancing around as if she was the stupid one in the room and had missed something essential._

 _As the room grew silent, she had her answer. Prentiss glanced at her watch before looking around. She locked her eyes with Hotch. "Another coffee run?"_

" _I'll go." He said. "I could use the walk."_

 _The trouble with the matte glass windows of the SCU's special and most precious Glass Room, is that you can't see what's happening outside. The whole point of the room was to prevent people from knowing what was going on on the inside, but those inside were ignorant to what happened outside as well. So when McCallister came bursting into the room, holding a map of the Atlanta area with SSA Trace right behind, startling the team as they jumped or let out a gasp. However, they quickly left any comments aside._

" _We've got something." Mac said and from the tone of his voice, everyone knew that this time it was a good, solid lead. They hurried around the front of the table, where McCallister had laid out the map. There were lines drawn around the area, things scribbled down and half-finished notes placed on the side. "Trace, she's all yours."_

 _Felisha Trace, a 38 year old black woman, originally from Los Angeles, and an expert in tracking and terrorism, decided to skip the small talk and immediately placed her finger on the Johns Mountain Wildlife Management Area. She placed another finger on the other side of Atlanta. "Two days ago, Athens police found the body of a young girl, eighteen, blonde, dismembered. Her head was missing."_

" _That's Abby's stalker." Hotch immediately said._

 _Trace nodded. "That's what we thought. So we got in touch with Athens police and asked them if he had received a call or met someone that was interested in the case. He said he had. He told us that a woman had called him, identifying herself as special agent Jennifer Jareau and wanted to know about the case." The dark woman shortly looked at JJ, who looked surprised. "The detective kindly informed her and answered any of her questions. It wasn't until he hung up, that he noticed something strange – whoever had called him, called from a public payphone. We traced the call back to Calhoun. As good as she is, she let something slip. There's a jewellery store across the street from that payphone, probably because of a series of break-ins. She's on it. Frankie made that call from Calhoun."_

" _I found her."_

 _Garcia's comment was drenched in disbelieve. Her big eyes stared at her laptop and she didn't move. It was almost as if she was too afraid to move, as if that would make the discovery on her laptop somehow vanish. Miles on the other hand, he wasn't afraid to move as he pushed his chair to sit next to Garcia and he looked at the screen._

" _How? Where is she?" Hotch immediately demanded to know._

" _South East of Calhoun is a place called Rome." Garcia explained as she looked up. "I didn't think of it at first, but when I looked up Calhoun, I saw it and I remembered because when I heard it for the first time, years ago, I thought it was funny. Then I looked up property owners in and around and I cross checked the owners with our names." Her big eyes found Morgan's and she swallowed. "Apparently you bought a small house just outside of Rome a few weeks ago, on a side-road of Sand Springs Road. I've just send the coordinates to your phones."_

" _Let's go." Hotch barked and his team sprang into action. "Mac, Miles, we could use you guys there."_

 _McCallister looked at Miles, who sent him a meaningful look. "Yeah, I'd like to see you try and stop him." The tall, dark haired man joked as he pointed at Miles with his thumb. Miles, in his turn, patted his boss on his shoulder once. "Last one in the car is buying coffee for the rest of the week."_

* * *

February 7th.  
Next day.  
Monday _.  
_ 06.34.

And so this is how Spencer Reid found himself in the back of the car, as Morgan took a right on Sand Springs Road onto a dirt road that didn't even have a name. He looked at the file in his lap. When he opened it, he read the message again. 'All roads lead to Rome, but make sure they don't lead back home'.

"It's another message." Reid mumbled to himself.

"We checked the cars, their clean. There are no bugs, no tracing devices. We're clean, Reid." Morgan commented from the driver's seat.

"It's not that." The genius replied, again in a mumbling sort of way.

"Then what is it?" Hotch asked.

"I think she's telling you to stay out of Atlanta, Hotch."

"What makes you think that?"

"The message was left for you. She didn't just pick any of our names, she chose yours specifically. 'All roads lead to Rome' is the part where she's directing you to this place. 'But make sure they don't lead back home' is where she is telling you to don't go back. Atlanta is her home, so she's telling you not to go back to Atlanta." He explained.

"Could this be just another diversion?" Morgan suddenly wondered.

"It could very well be. If Reid's right and she wants me out of Atlanta, then this is certainly a way to draw me away from the city. She may even have left enough clues in the house to keep me busy. Good thing is that we know now, so if she isn't there, I'm going back." Hotch answered truthfully.

"So far, he's killed wherever Frankie's been. The fact that he killed four other women in the same area means that he knows it's important to Frankie. It could very well be where they will eventually collide, which means that she may feel like it isn't safe." Reid paused and looked at his boss. "She wants you to be safe, Hotch."

The older man looked over his shoulder and looked at Reid. He sighed before he spoke again. "Yeah, but why? Considering I got nowhere with her during the interviews in Atlanta, I don't think she sees me as a threat."

"Perhaps that's because you're not." Reid stated matter-of-factly and somewhat snappy. He opened the file and partially hid behind it to avoid Hotch' gaze. "Perhaps she cares for you. Just like she cares for JJ and Morgan."

"Reid..." Morgan started.

"No, think about it." He interrupted Morgan. "She buys a property in your name, knowing fully well that we would find her once we found the note. Sure, with Trace's help we found her a lot quicker, but we would have eventually found a place called 'Rome' near Atlanta. That's a message for you. I'm just not sure if it means 'get out of Atlanta' or 'go home'. Then she calls Athens PD, thinking her stalker may have struck there, using JJ's name. She's covering her tracks, but at the same time she's leaving really big traces behind because she's using you guys as aliases."

"She's reaching out." Hotch responded determined. "Something's going on with her and she wants us to know about it."

"And just because she hasn't used you as an alias yet, doesn't mean she doesn't care about you." Morgan told the man in the back.

"I know." Reid replied, but felt his heart sink as he heard the words that had been echoing inside his head out loud. Only he knew they weren't true.

An hour and a half after leaving SCU Headquarters, Morgan saw a small house on his right appear from behind the rows of trees they had been seeing for the past 40 minutes. The one story home was in the middle of an open field, with a front porch and small drive way up to the house. He spotted a red pick-up parked out front and all the white café curtains were closed, making it hard to look inside, but easier to look outside unseen. As both SUV's and McCallister's work car drove up the drive way and eventually parked, Reid looked around and noticed that he wasn't able to see any other houses, or properties for that matter. Secluded, alone; perfect hiding place, he thought.

"How do you want to handle this?" Morgan asked his boss.

"She might feel overwhelmed or cornered if we're all walking up to her, so just hang back and I'll talk to McCallister on what he wants to do. The last thing we need is Abby running away again." He replied. The three men stepped out of the car and were immediately approached by Rossi, JJ and Prentiss, who had driven the car in front of them. McCallister and Miles joined as well after exiting their vehicle.

"What's the plan here?" Rossi wanted to know.

Hotch looked at McCallister as a sign that he would be the lead. But before they could actually come up with a strategy, they heard a door open and close again. As they looked at the house, Abby Scott stood on the porch, her arms crossed, her expression cold as stark and fierce eyes looked at them from under her brows.

"Guys, why don't you just hang back here." McCallister said as he addressed the group. Then he shortly placed his hand on Hotch' elbow, signalling that he should follow. Reid watched Hotch and McCallister walk up to the house as Abby's expression changed. Her eyes lost their hardness, opened up and she dropped both arms, revealing the gun she was holding. She holstered it as she slowly stepped down the stairs and met the two men halfway. He could see her gaze shifting between Hotch and McCallister, once locking with Miles' sorrowful eyes, before she settled on the SCU unit chief.

Reid could see McCallister's chest go up, his shoulders extending as he took a breath. However, he had yet to see the reaction on Abby's face. When her head snapped towards Hotch, Reid understood that Hotch was going to do the talking. Miles suddenly shifted his weight and turned himself away from the scenery before walking away. His head was bowed, his hand covering his mouth. When Reid looked back at his once best friend, he could read the confusion off her face. Abby glanced at McCallister, probably wanting him to deny the news she just got, before blankly staring at Hotch. She took a step back. And then another. She didn't blink, she didn't cover her mouth, she didn't move her arms nor did she make a sound.

Then she pivoted on her feet and walked back into the house. Uncertainty washed over the group that had been observing and they all shared a look with each other. Hotch looked over his shoulder, McCallister had his head down and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Reid jumped when he heard a loud crash coming from the house, followed by another loud noise. The sound of things being broken by an unnatural force followed each other one after the other and occasionally, they saw something flying around the house as Abby Scott raged on and destroyed whatever she could get her hands on.

A few minutes passed and the sounds died down. The group was unsure of what to do and questioningly looked at their supervisors as they returned. "What do you want to do?" Rossi asked kindly, and gently, as he looked at Hotch.

"We need to give her some space." Mac answered for him, but avoided any eye contact as he kept looking at the ground.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Morgan questioned, his voice too, soft and soothing.

"She needs some time." Was the return. "Give her some time and some space."

Miles suddenly turned around again, his black and worn All Stars already covered in dust from the sandy land, and headed towards the house with confident steps. He brushed passed Hotch and McCallister, ignoring their calls, marching up the porch and disappeared as he closed the door.

From the distance, they could see him walk around the house, looking at something and yell before marching right out again.

"She's gone." He said. "She's gone! Fucking idiot!"

Hotch' head immediately turned to McCallister, who finally looked up. "You let her go?" He asked in disbelieve. Morgan and Prentiss sprang into action and ran towards the house, possibly to check if it was real, another part of them wanting to chase her.

McCallister looked at Hotch with an expression Reid couldn't place. Was it, guilt? Sorrow? Sadness? Or did he know something they didn't?

"She needs time." McCallister repeated his earlier words before he turned and walked back towards his car.

"We don't have a lot of time." Reid commented to McCallister's back. The man stopped, looked at the genius, who in his turn looked back, and continued his way.

* * *

 _"Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power, and the fear of freedom shrinks and vanishes. You are free."  
_ Jim Morrison.


	9. Our devils

" _Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid... He is the hero, he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man. He must be, to use a rather weathered phrase, a man of honour, by instinct, by inevitability, without thought of it, and certainly without saying it. He must be the best man in his world and a good enough man for any world."  
_ Raymond Chandler

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 07.08.

Sand springs road, Rome.

They had found the person that was most likely able to give them the answers to their burning questions. The person they were sure was under an immediate threat. The one person that was able to make sense of this all, this web of minor and seemingly indifferent cases all scrambled together, and that person had escaped through the backdoor.

Aaron Hotchner was looking at the farmer's green doorpost framed scenery that had unfolded before his feet. He watched the sun rise over the Selman Lakes. He could hear the water rushing, if only softly, from the nearby Rock Mountain Creek. It was peaceful, bright and green and he understood why Abby had chosen this spot to lay low and wait for them to show up. He wondered if she even thought about the possibility of them bearing the bad news that they had. He shrugged the thought from his mind – Abby was no saint, but she would never let anyone get hurt if she had knowledge of the act beforehand. Hotch slowly turned on his feet, his eyes following the wooden walls and the cracks in the floor as he observed the small kitchen with its blue cabinets and yellowish café curtains. The green kitchen table was one of the few things standing up in the room as he looked at Prentiss approaching him, dodging some books and a broken bookcase.

"There's no sign of her." She informed him.

Mentally, Hotch told her 'Of course not'. But physically, he didn't utter a word. He remained standing still with his typical hand pose; his index fingers pressed against his thumbs. His eyes studiously continued to move around the room.

"Hotch?" Prentiss called out to him. When he didn't reply, she placed her hand on his arm, seeking eye contact with Rossi before she tried to find Hotch' gaze.

"Hotch?" Rossi called out as well. "You okay?"

Morgan appeared from the bathroom, reacting to the sounds from the living room and kitchen. He frowned as he watched the three BAU agents. Reid appeared next to him, also, observing the group, after he had interlocked his eyes with McCallister, who had been standing in the corner after being scolded at by Hotch. JJ, who had been in the backyard, re-entered the house and stepped in between Rossi and Hotch. She didn't understand the looks until she found Hotch and his blank, almost emotionless expression standing next to her.

"She slept on the couch." Hotch suddenly said. He appeared apathetic, as if suffering some nervous breakdown.

"She did." Rossi replied. He locked eyes with Prentiss before stepping towards his colleague.

Hotch turned his head to look at the bathroom and the hallway leading to the bedroom. "It doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't." Reid responded before anyone else could. He too was looking at the couch.

"Where's her stuff?" Hotch mumbled.

JJ shook her head. "What? You okay, Hotch?"

"Where's her stuff?" He repeated, his voice stronger now and a determined frown begun to form on his forehead. "She pretty much threw everything around here across the room, but the kitchen table is still standing. She was living her, yet she slept on the couch and there really isn't anything here. If she was living here, she was working here. So, then where are her files? Her notes? A laptop? She didn't have that much time to gather it all."

"That _is_ strange." Morgan commented, staring at the brown, misplaced couch and the coffee table that had been broken in two.

"She's a genius." Reid suddenly said. "It's all in her head."

"But why? Why does she lead us all this way here, only for us to find that she has it all in her head? To her stalker, that may be useful information, but not to us." Hotch replied.

"Unless." Rossi started and sighed. "Unless she is counting on her stalker following us and getting this information, but it's not the end of the breadcrumb. Not for us, anyway."

"That means there must be something here." Prentiss commented.

"Hang on, hang on." JJ ordered, his hands raised in defence. "Let me just get this straight. Abby is hiding out here from her stalker, who is actually a serial killer, right? Then she gets the news that her team is murdered, in cold blood, probably by the serial killer that _she's_ been tracking. After hearing the news, she tears her place apart in anger and then just walks out the back door? Frankie's the type of person that wants to know everything. She's a control freak. The minute that she could have injected herself into the investigation," She raised her hands again and looked at Reid, "Sorry for using profiler talk, but the minute that she could her inserted herself right into the investigation again, she walks away? Two months ago she managed to control a murder case from an interview room while being locked to a table."

"That means there must be a clue here." Morgan concluded.

"There is." Hotch said softly as he turned around again. "Morgan Falls reservoir."

"That's where we found the tenth victim of the Christian Killer, Margaret Fields." McCallister immediately voiced.

"Look at the view. It's not the same, but it's pretty similar. I knew there was something familiar about it. It wasn't until JJ mentioned the Christian Killer that I realised it. Better yet, Morgan Falls reservoir, apart from the obvious link to Morgan, lies near Sandy Springs."

"Sand springs road." McCallister put the pieces together. "But why drag us all the way out here?"

"Could be new pieces of the puzzle. Rome, Selman Lakes." Rossi suggested. "Or she just needed us out of the city to make us realise something."

"Realise what?" Prentiss asked him.

Rossi didn't reply instantly. Instead, he sent a powerful message to Hotch, then looked at McCallister before lying his gaze upon the brunette. "That's she's out there. That no matter what, she's out there."

"That she's in a bad spot; chasing a killer while being chased by a killer." Hotch finished. "But that doesn't matter. Know that I've got your back. She's looking out for us."

"Her stalker slash serial killer is starting to sound more and more of a threat." Prentiss commented casually. "Could it be that he killed your team members?" She looked at McCallister and shrugged. "I'm still stuck on the whole idea that the Christian Killer is alive and back killing again after 12 years of silence."

"Could be. But why would Abby be investigating him if he wasn't?" The SCU supervisor told her.

"What is her connection to him anyway? Why's she so obsessed with him?" Morgan asked.

McCallister and Hotch shared a look, one that meant more than anyone in the room could know. "He's not your average serial killer. Frankie's a smart girl. If she believed he was still alive, I can imagine she wanted to go after him. If only.." McCallister's voice trailed off.

"If only to prove her superiority. Her smartness." Rossi commented starkly.

"If only because he terrorised this city, agent Rossi." He corrected the older man sharply. "Atlanta is Frankie's home and she takes it very, _very_ personal when someone's threatening her city. Past, present or future. Trust me when I tell you that it was really hard to pull her into the BAU. Counterterrorism wanted her, _badly_."

"I thought Abby was born in England?" Hotch suddenly said.

"Not to my knowledge." McCallister replied.

"Then why the English accent?" JJ questioned him with the same stern expression on her face as Hotch. McCallister shrugged. "Oh, sod it. It could just be another game she's playing. Or another deception or a breadcrumb or a detour." JJ snapped and walked out of the room.

There was a short silence as the FBI agents in the room glanced around and at each other, unsure of their next course of action.

Reid rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I just don't understand what the connection is. Frankie's stalker, the murders of her old colleagues, the Christian Killer, the disappearance of his victims, Louisa Delgado's murder, Evelyn Parker, Frankie running, leaving clues and breadcrumbs. What does it all mean?"

"We've got the pieces of the puzzle. Now we just need to, somehow, see how to merge it all together." Prentiss said, her voice low as if semi-desperate and her mind being in deep thoughts.

"Bronckovic is gone." JJ burst back into the small house, her eyes big and wide and angry.

"What?" McCallister blurted out and followed the blonde back outside. He spotted the third car being missing. "Son of a bitch!"

Rossi looked at Hotch as the rest of the team also stepped outside, and he seemed too afraid to return his glare. "I get the feeling that there are a lot more things at play here, Hotch. And I'm not liking it."

Hotch didn't reply and wisely kept his mouth shut. Rossi confirmed his own thoughts. The nagging feeling he had been carrying around ever since receiving McCallister's phone call only grew stronger as he dug more and more into the case. It was as if they were puppets in a play orchestrated by a stranger and they had no script whatsoever. Something was tugging at his heart. Despite Abby's strange behaviour, the breadcrumbs, the running away, the disappearing act, he had seen something on her face the moment that he told her about the death of agent Wills, Lewis and Pinõ. He had felt confused and blind whenever being around Abby for the past three of four months before her arrest, as if there was something she was telling him but he couldn't hear her words, how she showed him that there was something, but he couldn't see. And yet, his gut told him that there was something.

"What am I missing?" He mumbled to himself as he stood in Abby's temporary home by himself, his eyes going over the room again as he turned around in a circle. His eyes caught the view again and he remembered how the backdoor had been opened fully when he entered the house. He looked back at the kitchen table and the scratches on the floor. He closed his eyes as he smiled to himself.

"Why Rome, Abby?" He asked out loud. There was no reply. He knew by now that Abby had a knack for clues and hidden messages. "Just because we could link it to Morgan Falls reservoir? Or is it because of the pilgrimage? Rome, the city of belief and religion?" His ears caught nothing but silence. Hotch understood now. This was their very own pilgrimage and they were right at the crossroads. Continue or take a new direction. He looked at his hands and then back at the backdoor and the table. "Okay. I trust you. You take the lead." Hotch told her. He wasn't sure where she was, but he considered the possibility of her hiding underneath the floorboards, which was the reason why the kitchen table hadn't moved. Miles must have known that she was still in or near the house – there was no way she would have made it out of the house and out of the line of sight by the time Morgan and Prentiss had burst into the room. And she must have left him a message on that same kitchen table, which told him to go somewhere. Do something. Hotch realised that they had all underestimated the power of their friendship. Two months ago, Abby had been accused of murdering his fiancée, and now he was running off without a word, in the middle of an investigation while, as far as Hotch could tell, the two hadn't spoken to each other ever since that fiasco in the interview room. Miles must know more and his sense of utter loyalty was admiring.

"Hotch, you coming? We're going to try to catch up with Bronckovic. Garcia's got a last known location before he disabled GPS." Morgan appeared in the doorway and the older man could tell by the look on his face that he was furious.

"Yeah." He turned to close and lock the backdoor and did the same when leaving through the front. As he stepped down the front porch, he could swear he heard something on the roof. _Underneath the floor boards was a little too obvious of course_ , he thought to himself.

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 09.26.  
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

He could tell that his team had become divided, once again. From the corner of Room One, he studied his team members – not profiling them – and watched as he tried to sort his thoughts. Rossi and Prentiss, the golden duo, sat next to each other, occasionally exchanging thoughts as they read through the Christian Killer's case files. JJ had joined their side of the table, positioning herself so that she could look at the computer screen Garcia was working on. Morgan had sat at the far end of the table, somewhat away from the rest of the group and his choice of seat told Hotch enough – he was in doubt, not sure what to believe anymore. Reid was the only one, except for McCallister but he had been with his Team Two and Three for the past half hour, who sat on Hotch' side of the table. Though he had expected nothing less from the young genius who still remained somewhat faithful to his old colleague, it felt good to know that at least one person was on his side.

Mentally, Hotch kicked himself. There were no sides – he could hear himself say it the day before as he sternly addressed his team for acting childish and irrational after Abby's betrayal. Rossi looked up from over the case file he was holding, as if reading Hotch' thoughts and sighed. Hotch turned his head to look at the boards behind his colleague. They had four sections now; the Christian Killer, Abby and her stalker, the five murdered women in the Atlanta area (they added the victim that was discovered days earlier in Athens) and Evelyn Parker. They all found it suspicious that she had disappeared into thin air and her disappearance was the only reason they we're still looking into the Christian Killer's case. Apart from that clue, they didn't have much to go on, after they reached the theory that because Abby's stalker had such intimate knowledge of her, there was a good possibility he had gotten his hands on the Christian Killer files and knew the case. This allowed him to be the perfect copycat.

"I need some air." Hotch notified them bluntly and left the room before anyone could react. Once outside, Hotch found himself standing on Frankie's spot, near the ashtray, the place where she would always smoke with her fellow SCU agents. Taking a deep breath, inhaling the scent of burnt cigarettes, he closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his forehead.

"You okay Hotch?"

"Yes. I'm fine." He opened his eyes, but was reluctant to make eye contact with the man on his right.

McCallister stepped closer and lit a cigarette. He shrugged when Hotch gave him a look.

"Do you think she's alive?"

This time McCallister gazed at Hotch. His eyes seemed somewhat curious, studious, as if trying to read Hotch. Then he sighed. "I don't know."

"What if-" Hotch voice got stuck in his throat. _Breathe, Hotch. Breathe._ "What if he left her alive and we never found her?"

"That's not on you, Hotchner."

"I know." He paused. But he didn't believe the words. "It's quiet here." Hotch commented, suddenly noticing the lack of people.

"One of the few benefits of being a popular law enforcement team. We asked the press for a favour, to leave us alone, for now, until we would have some answers. Everybody's been directed towards the FBI main office downtown." McCallister told him matter-of-factly. "In return, they would all get an exclusive something, and should something really be happening, we'd put them back in the loop."

"Almost sounds too good to be true."

McCallister made a sound. "SCU was created with the sole purpose of keeping Atlanta safe. Crime numbers were rising dramatically and the public needed someone or something to clean up their streets. SCU was part of that plan and since we solve the most brutal, most horrific cases, we spent a lot of time in the spotlight. High profile cases always get more attention. We spent time to create a bond between the teams and the members of the public. Social cohesion, it's called I believe. Unfortunately, every good thing comes with something bad." Hotch looked at him. "Our numbers and work was so impressive, we almost became the face of the 'tough on crime' policy here. We became known. And those that get up high fall the hardest." The Army-man looked around. "It's going to be different."

"You had a good team, Mac."

"Yeah. We had. But, you know what they say, right?" He took a last pull from his cigarette before dropping it in the ash tray. "The bad die quick, the good die young and the best never stood a chance."

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 11.01  
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

"What if we're looking at this the wrong way?" JJ suddenly spoke, her eyes holding a look of absence.

"What do you mean?" Garcia asked her.

"We profiled the Unsub to be her stalker." As if on cue, the team switched case files and mentally changed to the stalker case, leaving the Christian Killer for what he was for a moment. JJ continued. "But in every major city she's been at with the BAU, he killed young, blonde women, dismembered their bodies and took their heads. Why didn't he set her up earlier? Why here, in Atlanta, with the murder of a woman that isn't even his type?"

"Go on." Rossi said to her kindly, knowing JJ was on a certain track in her mind.

"Why did he wait so long? Why did he wait until she came back to Atlanta? For all we knew, that could have taken years since the SCU is running the scene here."

"They were. But they were called away on a high priority case." Prentiss remembered as she slowly caught on with JJ's mind-set.

"If we forget about the case, it was pure luck Abby was going back to Atlanta so quickly after leaving." JJ replied.

"Yeah, but she'd been back before, to assist on the Whitewater Creek killer." Reid reminded them.

"So, we're back to the same question, why didn't he set her up earlier?" JJ was still staring at an unidentified mark on the table that stretched out before her. "What if he wasn't trying to set her up?" She suddenly said, her face and eyes lit up. "We've said it ourselves – the evidence was weak and mostly circumstantial. We couldn't link Abby directly to the murder and the most important piece of evidence, the blood underneath Louisa's fingernail, turned out to be planted. Does that sound like a well-thought out and perfectly executed plan to set up the woman you've been stalking for three years?"

"It doesn't." Morgan admitted. "So what was he trying to do?"

"He was sending her a message." Prentiss said confident. "Come closer and I'll kill the people you care about. McCallister told us that Frankie had been taking days off. Nobody really knows what she did most her time when she had a day off after transferring to the BAU." Her eyes shortly glanced in Morgan's direction. _Apart from those things she did on her days off._ "For all we know, she was chasing him and she was getting closer."

"So when the opportunity presented itself when we caught a case in Atlanta, he put a plan in motion." Morgan finished, ignoring Prentiss' looks.

"He's not the real hunter, Frankie's the one that hunting him." JJ continued. "And she got too close."

"So if we want to get to her stalker, we need to know exactly what she was doing the weeks before Atlanta." Morgan concluded, his eyes casted at his supervisor, who had been silent, but the man nodded.

Hotch nodded in agreement. "We'll have to split up. We can't ignore the fact that there's a killer out there that's got highly confidential information about a serial killer's mo. I can't risk it. Rossi, I want you and Reid working the Christian Killer case. Morgan, Prentiss and JJ, we'll team up with McCallister to track Abby and find her stalker. Team Two will continue to locate the Christian Killer's victims and team Three is looking into the murdered women's case."

"Divide and conquer." Rossi commented casually and grabbed his files again.

Reid spun around in his chair to look at the dark haired man. "Hotch, Frankie told me that she was visiting a friend, a deception expert by the name of Cal Lightman in Washington, a few days before Atlanta."

"Cal Lightman? Isn't that the expert that helped us with the Donalds case?"

"She talked about him sometimes. She completed a traineeship at his office a few years back. He had also invited her over for Thanksgiving." Reid informed them.

Hotch turned to Garcia. "Garcia, can you find me deception expert Cal Lightman's personal cell number?"

Garcia's fingers flew over the keyboard and within seconds she looked back at him. "Consider it already done, boss-man."

"Thanks."

Hotch stepped out into the warmth of the morning once again and inhaled some fresh air. He had been up for over 24-hours and he was starting to feel it. This case was a rollercoaster that not only prevented them from getting any sleep, also kept throwing things at them that pumped the adrenaline right back into their systems. Again – no time for sleep. They would have to get some rest, Hotch thought to himself, if only to make sure his team was focussed and on point. Tired minds got them nowhere. He pressed on Lightman's number on his cell phone and put the phone to his ear. It rang maybe three times, before it was picked up.

" _Lightman._ " The voice on the other end of the line held a heavy British accent and his voice was whiskey-deep and coloured in a certain way.

"Cal Lightman?" Hotch asked him.

" _Who is this?_ " Came the immediate reply.

"My name is special agent Aaron Hotchner. I'm with the FBI."

" _You're Frankie's boss_." Lightman replied instantly and for some reason, Hotch could hear him stop dead in his tracks. Before he could even answer, Lightman fired his next question. " _Is she alright?_ "

"No." Hotch admitted and sighed briefly. "She's in trouble. A lot of trouble."

" _What can I do?_ " He didn't ask what kind of trouble. He didn't ask how deep she was in. He went straight to the point of functionalism. Hotch started to understand why Abby liked him so much.

"Are you aware of the fact that she had been arrested two months ago, in Atlanta?"

" _Yeah, I saw it on the news._ "

"There's something going on and we need answers. We need to know what she did when she visited you two months ago, before she was arrested in Atlanta." Hotch asked him.

Lightman took a few seconds before he replied. " _What do you mean?_ "

"We need to know if you two worked on anything, if she mentioned anything to you, whether or not the two of you spoke about anything that could tell us what she was working on."

" _Agent Hotchner, I haven't seen Frankie in months._ "

This time, it was Hotch we turned silent. "Okay. Thank you."

" _Wow, wow, hang on._ " Lightman raised his voice. " _You keep me posted, okay?_ " He asked softer now. He cared about her.

"I will. Thank you." Hotch hung up, not having the time to think about Cal Lightman anymore.

He almost threw himself through the matte glass doors of the primary room and marched right back into the room. "She wasn't in DC." He said as he approached Garcia. Several looks were shared.

"Garcia?"

"I'm already on it, just give me a minute." The blonde tech told him as she feverishly worked on her laptop. "She had a ticket booked to DC, she checked in, but she never boarded the flight. I have no record of her going anywhere else. No paper trail, she didn't use her credit card, her rental car, no nothing, nada, zilch." She looked up at Hotch with a disheartened look on her usual gentle face and she pushed her glasses back on top of the bridge of her nose. "I can't find her. Again." She added.

The door was swung open again. "We have a massive problem." McCallister's voice was loud and filled with stress, fear and anxiousness. He tossed a file on the table and spread out five photos of young blondes. "The Christian Killer's victims, all survivors." He stared at Hotch. "They were all in protective custody so I contacted the Marshall's office yesterday, to inform them that there was a possibility that the Christian Killer was back. They would check upon the women and tighten security. They called back 20 minutes ago – two of them, Evelyn Parker and Jasmine Woods, are still missing. They're looking, but I don't think they're still alive."

"The other three…?" Hotch started, but was too afraid to finish his sentence. He knew what was coming.

"Team Three found them. All dead, their throats cut along with other deep lacerations and they had a red cross carved into their foreheads. He's back Hotch. This is no copycat, it's _him_."

No time for sleep.

* * *

February seventh.  
Next day.  
Tuesday _.  
_ 06.33.  
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

"When are these pieces going to fall together?" JJ moaned out loud. She had her head resting on the palm of her hand, the elbow propped up on the table as she was slouching forward, her rib cage pressed against the edge of the table. They had managed to get _some_ sleep, though it wasn't much. If it hadn't been for the fact that most of them looked like they could collapse any second, she doubted Hotch would have even send them to their hotel rooms to get some rest. Still, they all gladly took the offer, even though they all left with files and notes. It hadn't been a long night – JJ figured she was the first when she arrived at the SCU Headquarters just after six and not being able to sleep much longer, but saw McCallister in his office with SSA Felisha Trace from Team Two and she found Reid at the coffee machine.

She looked at the rest of her team. They were going through the evidence that had just been delivered from the homes of the three victims. The place where they had lived in fear for the past 12 years. None of them had a partner, except for Evelyn Parker, but both she and her boyfriend had disappeared without a trace. Just like Jasmine Woods, the second survivor. As for Nikki McCleod, the fourth survivor; she was found murdered, just like the other girls, in a cabin she rented under a fake name. Reid was putting up the photos from the houses Morgan handed to him. Prentiss stood hovering over the table, staring at their portraits. Rossi was holding onto one of the victim's belongings, she couldn't make out what, and observed the new board being brought to life. Five cases - all connected through one common denominator: Abby Franklin Scott. They were in over their heads.

"Wait a minute." The blonde computer specialist next to JJ mumbled as she typed. JJ straightened her upper body and turned to her.

"You got something?"

"Hotch said that Abby's hiding place, that reminded him of Morgan Falls reservoir, right?"

"Yeah, where the tenth victim was found-"

"Margaret Fields." Garcia already said, the file popping up before her eyes. "After Margaret Fields, the Christian Killer kidnapped Evelyn Parker, the sixth survivor. His next victim was his last, Zoe Price."

"That can't be a coincidence." JJ commented in an almost questioning tone.

Garcia shook her head. "I don't have profiler-brain, but I'd say considering Frankie's knack for clues and riddles and breadcrumbs, that's another one."

"Hotch!" JJ called out and looked up. He approached her hastily.

"You got something?"

"Garcia might." She looked at her friend.

"Oh, right." Garcia fumbled with the pen in her hands, nerves overcoming her now that she was finding herself put into the spotlight. "I just figured that, Frankie left a clue to Morgan Falls reservoir, right? Where Margaret Fields was found, the Christian Killer's tenth victim." Hotch didn't say anything when Garcia paused, non-verbally asking her to continue. "Well, Margaret Fields was the last victim that he killed. He took Evelyn Parker next and Zoe Price after. What if that's another message?"

"Saturday is close." Hotch said, remembering the words in the letter addressed to both him and David McCallister. "Reid suggested that he was going after her, but that he hadn't gotten to her. Now that she's disappeared and three other survivors turned up dead, that could mean Evelyn Parker along with the other two made a run for it and are, so far, successful in hiding from her abductor."

"So, then why would Frankie lead us to that place?"

"Because she has Evelyn Parker." A voice said from behind Hotch. He turned to find Reid standing in front of him, Morgan, Rossi and Prentiss right behind. "Abby's stalker? I know why their heads were missing." Reid told him. He held up a picture of one of the dismembered bodies from the Atlanta area and one of the Christian Killer's victims. "He couldn't leave the head because he has the compulsion to carve the cross into their heads. It's his MO. He knew that the second we would find bodies with red crosses carved into the heads, everyone would know that he didn't die and that he was back. So instead he removed the heads and dismembered the bodies to cover his tracks. Which means that Frankie is chasing the Christian Killer. And he's chasing her."

"My God." Garcia let the words escape from her mouth.

"They are obsessed with each other. It's a cat and mouse game, only the roles keep getting turned around. Louisa Delgado's murder" Rossi paused to look at Prentiss, "was a message. Abby must have done something or figured something out that got her closer to him. In his defence, or as retaliation, he goes after someone she cares about. And it worked. Not only was she publicly humiliated, we kept her in an interview room for three days which gave him all the time to escape, to go to her home in Dumfries and grab her dog and find a new hiding place."

"And because of all the digging we did into her live and her past, we disrupted Abby's balance, which led to her having to recollect herself, mentally. That's another advantage he had on her." Morgan added.

"There's more." Prentiss said solemnly. "We talked to Team Two and Three. Remember why we got the call to Atlanta and not Team One? They were pulled away from their cases because of the discovery of two bodies. Both young females with blonde hair. They'd been killed, dismembered and decapitated weeks before, but dumped separately only a day before being discovered. If it wasn't for the investigation Wills and her team had been doing into disappeared blondes, the cases would have never gotten flagged and the primary team would have never been called away."

"It was another trap." Hotch understood. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Have they been identified yet?"

"No." Prentiss answered unsure. Then it hit her. "Oh, God." Her voice didn't sound scared, nor surprised, just tired. "I'll have the coroner match their DNA with DNA samples collected from Jasmine Woods' and Evelyn Parker's homes."

"Frankie must have thought that she was getting closer, but in reality she was running right into his web." Reid's look was almost pleading. "We have to help her, Hotch."

"We are." He replied confidently. He looked at the members of his team. They all nodded and Reid returned a weak smile.

"Don't call me the party pooper, but how exactly are we going to catch this guy?" Garcia wanted to know. "Finding Frankie won't help. She'll either run again or we scare him off, only prolonging the time he's out there and he could kill a lot more women."

"So we go after the Christian Killer." Rossi decided.

"I've got an idea." Garcia piped after her computer gave her a small beep. "I've put a trace on that phone number Cuba was calling shortly before being shot. It was a dead end, but I figured that whoever the phone belonged to, must at some point turn it back on, otherwise he wouldn't have called it, right?"

"Good thinking momma." Morgan told her as he leant down on the armrests of the chair she was sitting in.

"Thank you my dear, because I was right. The phone just turned on, it's in use and I'm triangulating now."

"Have you got an area yet?" Prentiss questioned, her body language telling everyone she was more than ready for some action.

"It's in Atlanta. Hang on -… Wait a minute. Its downtown, Five Point district."

"That's right around the corner." Reid realised.

"Oh Lord, scratch that. The phone is walking right through the front door of the SCU Headquarters." Garcia's eyes widened as she looked up. Prentiss rushed towards the doors to press on the button that would crystallise the glass again, allowing them to see through. As the glass walls became clear again, they could see Milo Bronckovic entering the main lobby, escorting a young woman with dark hair and another man that was holding her hand. They recognised her immediately.

Evelyn Parker walked right into SCU Headquarters.

* * *

" _Somehow our devils are never quite what we expect when we meet them face to face."  
_ Nelson DeMille


	10. The Last Enemy

_"The last enemy that shall be conquered is death."  
_ 1 Corinthians 15:26.

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 11.01.  
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

McCallister rushed from team Two's gathering room towards him, his expression a combination of shock and anger. He accompanied both of them towards the primary room, where Prentiss was holding the door open for them. McCallister looked like he wanted to yell at his agent, but wisely kept quiet, not wanting to make a scene in front of Evelyn Parker and her companion.

"Agent Bronckovic," Hotch started diplomatically, "care to introduce us to your friends?" He had trouble keeping his tongue and even though he knew very well who Miles was escorting into the room, he felt the irresistible urge to point out his anger towards the SCU agent.

His intentions turned backwards, however, when the brunette interlaced her eyes with him, an almost apologetic expression on her face. "My name is Alissa Mary Zucker. But I think you'll remember me as Evelyn Parker. This is Toby McAdams, my boyfriend. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you." The woman, identifying herself as Evelyn Parker, said.

Her voice was small and soft, matching the gentle features of her face. She looked kind and friendly, her eyes sea-green and round, the bridge of her nose only small decorating her face. There was a large scar running from her right temple to her right cheek before going down passed her nose wing and following her jawline. The scar ended just before her right ear. There was another scar they spotted as she clenched the large scarf she was wearing – a stab wound to the left hand. No doubt there were many more scars, now hidden behind her clothes.

Hotch stepped forward, his expression immediately softening when she spoke. "Miss Parker, I'm not sure if you remember me-"

"Agent Hotchner, I know. And, agent McCallister. I remember you." She smiled faintly and swallowed nervously. She readjusted her scarf.

"You've got some explaining to do, Miles." McCallister told him, his voice strong and official, but his eyes spat fire.

"Please, it's not his fault." Evelyn said, her right hand raised, and wanted to continue were it not that Prentiss stepped in.

"Please, ma'am, have a seat." She motioned for Evelyn to sit down and pushed a chair back for her boyfriend, a tall man with a large burn scar in his neck. Despite his rough edges and his potentially threatening appearance, Toby McAdams smiled kindly at Prentiss as he took a seat next to his girlfriend, protectively placing an arm around her chair.

"We got a call about a month ago." Toby started as everyone else in the room sat down as well. "It was Frankie. She told us what happened and said that we had to do as we had discussed and hide."

"Where did you go?" Hotch asked them.

"I own a boatshed, near Jekyll Island State Park." Evelyn paused and looked at her partner. "It's under a different name, I've got the right paperwork. Frankie was sure that he wouldn't find us there. So that's where we went. It wasn't much, but it kept us save. We took on another name and just kept low." She absentmindedly caressed the end of the black scarf as she talked. Reid curiously observed her behaviour, wondering about her affection towards the piece of fabric around her neck.

"I'm sorry, _another_ name?" Prentiss repeated questioningly.

"I took on a different identity about five years ago. Frankie set it up. She did it for most the survivors. When Toby and I started to get serious and everything, she arranged for a new identity for him as well." Hotch glanced at McCallister, who did the same. Mentally, they exchanged the same question _Why were they not informed that some of the survivors had taken on different identities?_

"Do you know how she managed to do that?"

Evelyn smiled shortly. "Frankie can do things and make things happen that I don't dare to ask about. All I know is that most of us entered the FBI protection program about five years ago. Frankie set it all up, when about a month into the program, she's at our door with a whole new identity again. She told us that this one was off the record." Evelyn paused and looked around the room. "Frankie was building a maze. I can't speak for the other girls, but I was still scared enough to let her do whatever she thought would be necessary and do as she told me. She's kept me save for all those years, there was no reason to doubt her. Especially not after that preacher was found dead with Tamara Rice's belongings."

"What happened next?" Hotch spoke kindly to the woman, having trouble remembering her. Perhaps it was because she looked better now – there was no blood covering most of her body, no bruises or broken bones, no blood-shot eyes or run down mascara decorating her face. Despite the fact that the past twelve years must have been an absolute hell for her, which was visible just looking at how skinny she was, Evelyn Parker looked alive. Which was more than what she looked like by the time Hotch and McCallister found her.

"About three years ago, she showed up again. Another new identity thrown in the mix. Frankie also created a network, secure enough, so that we could communicate with each other. I found it suspicious, Frankie always said it was for the best to have as little contact with the outside world as possible. And then she explained – Jasmine said she saw him. I mean, I doubt that you would agree with me that it was a strong and solid clue or anything, but it was enough to convince Jasmine. That automatically meant that it was good enough for the rest of us. Again, we went along with whatever Frankie told us to do. About two or three times a year, I spoke with the other girls. They all did the same. And we all felt safe because of what Frankie was doing and she kept us informed as she checked in on us. Then, last week, Frankie called again. She said that he'd been in Athens and didn't like the fact that he seemed to be heading out of the city. She told me that she would let us know when it was time to get ready. We got that message this morning - someone was going to pick us up at the train station in Macon and get us to safety. When Miles showed up, we knew he came for us."

"Miss Parker-" Hotch started, placing a hand on her arm.

"Evelyn, please, you know that agent Hotchner."

"Evelyn, I'm sorry for what you're going through right now. But I promise you, my team and I will catch him."

She smiled again and looked at Toby, who returned her smile. "I know. Frankie told me that you would. She told me about you, and your team." There was a silence in the room as each of the team members looked at each other. Despite the events in Atlanta two months ago, it appeared that Abby _had_ put all her faith in the BAU. "It's the whole reason we're here now. Frankie told us that it would be safe with you, that you would look after us."

"One last question, where did you get the phone?" Rossi asked her.

"What phone?" Evelyn replied.

"Ricardo Pinõ, one of Abby's old colleagues, he called the phone that you're carrying right now, shortly before he was shot." He explained to her.

Evelyn looked confused. "A cell phone, you mean? I don't have a cell phone. I haven't had one for twelve years. Frankie said it would be the easiest way for him to track me down."

"Wait a minute." His hoarse voice was distinctive and heads turned to Miles. "Cuba called Frankie's safe cell phone number?" The stark look on his face matched the tension in his voice. They all spotted the phone he was now holding in his hand as if it was poisonous.

"It was Frankie's phone?" Rossi questioned.

"The number ending with 8008, that was one of Frankie's burn phones. She left it for me at the house, with a text message telling me to pick up Evelyn. Are you telling me that Cuba called that number before he died?" Miles pressed.

Morgan quickly caught on. "He did, which means our Unsub has that number as well. And if we could track that number, then so can he."

"Miles, is there any way you can contact Abby directly?" Hotch sprang into action immediately. If the Christian Killer had her number, he would know by now Evelyn Parker was safe. It would cause him to turn all his anger for losing his 'Saturday' towards Abby.

"No, not directly. I can only leave messages." Miles' hand hastily disappeared into his pocket to grab his own cell phone. His was stopped by Mac's voice as he opened the door to head out.

"You and I aren't done yet, Miles."

"I know." He replied.

"Providing new, fake identities, hiding survivors of a serial killer still at large, withholding crucial information, fuck, I would even add obstruction of justice." The rest kept wisely quiet as Miles got a taste of what was laying in store for him. He had no time to defend himself because McCallister spoke again. "You're lucky we need to find Frankie, _now,_ otherwise I would have ripped you a new one right here and now. Now go. Be gone. And Miles? Find her." Miles nodded before exiting the room. "I'll go down my list of contact numbers too." McCallister told the rest of the team.

"Is there anyone else we can think of that can reach her?" Hotch asked them.

"What about Padre?" Morgan suggested as he remembered the obvious connection between the two.

McCallister nodded. "Good thinking. You know him?"

"I met him once."

"Go talk to him. I'll compile a list of other people here in the area that can get in touch with Abby. Or at least people that know people that can get in touch with her if she's not in Atlanta." McCallister informed them and grabbed a piece of paper.

"Alright, Morgan, take Reid and go visit Padre. JJ and Prentiss, will you take Evelyn and Toby, make sure they're taken care of and find a place safe and secure." JJ nodded as Prentiss voiced her acknowledgements and the two women guided the couple out of the room. Reid spotted the beginning of another scar in Evelyn's neck, the one she so frantically tried to hide, as she got up. Just before they headed out the door, Evelyn stopped.

"Wait. Agent Hotchner?"

"Yes."

"If there is anything, anything at all that I can do for you, please, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you. I will."

The dark haired woman nodded, her hand went up to her scarf to position it correctly before she turned around and exited the room.

"Get out of Atlanta." McCallister's words turned heads in the glass-covered room. He looked up from his cell phone and flashed them the screen. "A message from Abby. Received it seconds after I texted one of her numbers. 'Get out of Atlanta'."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Prentiss questioned. She never got her answer, as both Hotch and Morgan felt their phones vibrate and they reached towards the devices.

"Get out of Atlanta." Morgan read out loud. He looked at Hotch.

"I guess that makes me special." He said. "I got 'Get out of Atlanta now'." He sighed. "We're working on contacting Abby. We'll ask her about this later. Right now, let's make sure she's safe."

"Guess we're back on the Christian Killer." Rossi commented dryly, already knowing what Hotch was going to ask him.

"We are."

"Let's get this son of a bitch."

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 12.57.  
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

"So, Padre?" Reid asked, somewhat cynical, as he held onto the car door when Morgan took a sharp turn, driving too fast.

"Yeah. He and his wild bunch hang out on the corner right across Fulton Police Station and according to Abby, know everything that goes on around here. She told me that one of her first cases with DEA involved two girls that overdosed on bad ecstasy. Padre had known both girls. He pretty much injected himself into the investigation through Abby, constantly asking her about the case, telling her things, giving her tips and informing her of the things he heard on the streets. Thanks to him, she not only got the dealer and the drug ring, she put herself on the map thanks to that case. Ever since she would bring them coffee and doughnuts and helped them out when they were in a jam. Whenever she needed anything, she'd go to him and he would be happy to help her out."

"And you think that he'll know where Abby is?"

"I don't know, but I do know that if there is anyone, outside from Miles, who would be able to contact her, it's him."

The car screeched to a halt as Morgan pushed down the brakes violently, parking his car right on the sidewalk. He remembered 'Padre's corner', though when he visited the corner and Padre, it was night. His eyes sought the crowd, trying to find the man that had been wearing a bright pink feathered coat.

"Morgan." Reid called out to him and pointed at a group of men – one of them was wearing a white and green striped army jacket, torn jeans and high boots with zebra print. He was holding a cigar, but sporting the cowboy hat like he had when Morgan first met him.

The dark man patted Reid's shoulder, motioning for him to follow him, and headed towards the group.

"Padre?" He said and the homeless man turned around.

Padre was part of a group of elderly homeless men called 'the Wild Bunch', though Padre preferred to think of it as 'Padre and _his_ Wild Bunch'. Most of them had lived on the streets for at least 15 years, making them some of the best contacts in the area as they knew pretty much everything. Because they were such a kind group and beloved by many of the nearby residents, they knew about everything that was going on in their area. But one wouldn't be able to get their trust easily – they were all distrusting men, believing in corruption and conspiracies, genuinely disliking police and all other forms of authority. Padre and his wild bunch were a gold mine, but not a lot of people were allowed to step into the mine. Some lucky few were able to build an honest connection with the men though. Different people – some of the street cops, the lady from the coffee shop, Miles and Abby, and the mayor's assistant. Padre was quite the character – tall but chubby, bald and sparkling eyes and once he trusted you, he was more loyal than a Labrador.

"Oh Lordy, it's the officials!" Padre squealed and laughed heartily. "Quick! Hide the booze boys!" The rest of the group joined him in his laugher.

"Padre, please. I'm agent Derek Morgan, I'm Abby's partner."

"Who? I don't know any Abby." Padre replied and wanted to turn around.

"Frankie. Abby Franklin Scott. We met two months ago when working a case."

"I'm sorry darling, but I don't know anybody named Abby Franklin Scott. That is an unusually strange name, by the way, Mr. Official."

Morgan stood flabbergasted for a moment when Reid nudged him and softly spoke to him. "Frankie probably told him not to talk to anyone about her."

"Padre, please." His voice was pleading and he turned Padre around softly. "I promised you that I would keep her save. You made me promise that. Please, help me hold on to that promise. She's in danger and we're trying to help her. I need to know where she is."

The man looked at him, the glitters in his eye shadow twinkling in the sunlight. He eyed Morgan up and down before laying his eyes on Reid. He tilted his head back. "You Spencer Reid?"

Reid glanced at Morgan. "Uhm, yeah. I am."

"Boys." Padre addressed his 'boys' and held out his cigar to one of them. "Cover your ears." He grabbed Morgan by the arm and guided him away from his group, back to the car. "Listen, and you listen to me very carefully. Frankie's being watched."

"We know Padre. That's why we need to find her." Reid told him.

"We can offer you protection." Morgan said.

"Say what?!" Padre exclaimed, his voice high-pitched. "Be protected by whom, exactly, dear? The popo?" He snorted. "Darling, I wouldn't trust them with the sole of my right boot, and that one's hanging loose. No, don't you worry about me, handsome, I've got protection. The best there is. Now, shut up and listen. First, promise me that you will not ask me any further questions."

"Promised." Morgan replied instantly and without thought.

"Good boy." He pulled Reid and Morgan closer. "I'm going to tell you a secret and after I've told you the secret, you're going to put something in my hand, anything, to make it look like you've just bought some goody-goody from me, alright?" Reid and Morgan nodded. "Good boys. Frankie's in Atlanta."

Reid and Morgan interlaced eyes immediately. "Yeah, I know, she was in Rome first, but she's back and she's here. Which means that there are two ways you can contact her. The first way is the hardest. You take any subway from the red, the _red_ , subway line and use a white marker to write down your initials under the big X, okay? On the outside of the subway, and you take a subway of the _red_ line, okay? The other way is going to her place. You know her place on Baker street?" Morgan nodded. "Get into her place and take the lamp in the farthest corner of the room, so opposite from the door, near the windows. Turn it on, leave a note underneath the lamp and leave again. I promise you, she will get in touch with you by the end of the day."

"Thank you." Morgan placed a hand on his shoulder and used the other to place a 50 dollar bill in his hand.

"Agent Morgan, you keep our girl save, you hear me? You keep her save."

"I will. I promised you that."

"Remember, red line, Baker street."

"Thank you." Reid said as well, smiling nervously as both men headed back into the car.

"You be safe, Padre."

" _You_ be safe, mister 50 bucks!" Padre waved once before turning around and re-joining his friends, laughing as he looked at the piece of paper in his hand.

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 17.07.  
Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

It would take at least another two or three hours before the sun would set, but dusk had started to make his way into the city. It painted the town into a deeper shade, a saturated orange-yellow with burning flames licking the edge of the light. Morgan didn't have much of a view, so instead he stared at the row of trees on the other side of the road. He was holding a cup of coffee in his right hand, allowing the steam riding his chest up to his nose, his other hand tucked into his pocket. After Evelyn Parker and her partner had been escorted towards a safe house by half a dozen agents, he occasionally glanced at McCallister's office where Miles was getting a serious verbal beat down. Though the technical analyst still didn't come clean, he provided them answers to their most important questions.

Morgan sighed, stared at his coffee cup and shook the cup around until the black liquid swirled inside its container. Abby had a friend at the Marshall's office. One that owed her favours. She called them in five years ago and started providing the survivors with new identities. Since _her friend_ supervised the witness protection details for all Christian Killer survivors, she knew just how to keep everyone else at bay without being none the wiser. But, as Miles explained, the whole purpose of the new identities was to slowly pull the victims away from the US Marshalls. Abby had executed a perfect plan as she gave the victims another set of new identities without informing the Marshalls. Being the person that she is, Abby did leave a direct link to them behind; a list with the identities and residences, safely sealed away in a locked drawer of Abby's Marshall friend. Once again, Abby proved her solid profiling skills – she knew that once the Christian Killer would surface, McCallister would be right on the case and he would be the first to call and ensure the safety of his surviving victims. Since 'the friend' would be the one eventually receiving the call, Abby had left her with clear instructions: should McCallister ever call her because the CK was back, she would open the sealed envelope and get the survivors to safety. The only problem that Abby hadn't thought of was time. By the time the friend had tracked and located those four victims, at least a day would have passed and in this case – it would have been too late. Very much too late.

The tall, handsome dark man rubbed his face with one hand and tried to relax himself. Despite his best efforts, the voice in his head continued to yell at him, repeating the same sentence over and over and over and over again. She had been naked in his bed and he had never spotted a single thing. She had been so secretive, hiding so many things, doing things in plain sight and he had never seen it, nor caught the betrayal in her eyes. And once again he found himself stuck in a web of questions that Abby seemed to have the natural tendency to raise. Miles had headed into the city about an hour ago, deciding he could do more on the streets rather than sitting in Team One's room, the memories still fresh, their deathly pallor still in the air. He knew enough people to try and track his former best friend down.

Morgan recalled the events shortly before Miles left as he overheard Hotch and the SCU agent earlier.

" _Miles."_

" _Look, if you're going after my head too, then I'm asking you to wait. Please. You can execute me later, I need to find Frankie. If this son of a bitch finds her, she'll be dead before she can even take a breath." Miles held a sense of loss, of losing his way, as he held his hands open to his side, looking defeated._

 _Hotch studied the man before he spoke, taking in the dark bags underneath his eyes, the lack of colour on his skin, the way his clothes seemed not to fit anymore._

" _You've been through a lot these past months." He started. Miles briefly acknowledged the comment, but apparently didn't appreciate the man's reflection on his current situation. Morgan made a mental note not to forget again that Miles had lost his fiancé_ and _his colleagues, his friends, in a relative short period of time. Something Morgan knew they all forgot because they were so caught up with the Christian Killer and Abby Scott._

" _How are you holding up?"_

 _Miles shrugged faintly, intending to act like he couldn't care less about the question, but his eyes showed something different. "I just want this fucker. I'll re-evaluate the situation later."_

 _Hotch nodded. "Have you talked to Abby in the past two months?"_

 _There was a silence that told more than words ever could. It was then that Morgan realised that Miles was caught right in the middle; caught between his loyalty towards the best friend that may have gotten his fiancé killed and between his badge and the responsibilities that followed._

" _She's my best friend." Miles said almost broken. "She was everything I had long before all this started. I can't turn on her. She needs me."_

" _I know." Hotch' voice was deep, drenching in empathy. "And I'm not asking you to betray that trust. I just wanted to make sure you're holding up."_

" _Frankie's a secretive person, Hotchner. There are things I still don't know about her and I never asked her because I didn't want to put her in the position of having to say that she couldn't tell me. But that doesn't make me a fool, nor does that mean that I don't know. Because I do know. I noticed the absent moments, the fleeting moments she was lost deep in thoughts, the way she could look over her shoulder, expecting the devil. And I certainly noticed the way this case grabbed a hold of her the second she learnt about it. I know this case is special to her. And for me, the only thing that means is that I am backing her up, all the way, no matter what, and that she has my full support and trust."_

 _Hotch tilted his head back once Miles was done talking, taking in his words and analysing them. When he didn't reply, Miles did instead. "Yes, agent Hotchner. Frankie could ask anything of me. Doesn't matter what it is. I would lie for her, even if that would cost me my badge."_

 _He stepped forward, the strength returning to his fragile posture, straightening his back, lifting his head. "I'm sure she would appreciate you guys being here, and helping out. Fuck, I know that she does, because I know her. But at the end of the day, you're not on her side and right now, right now that means that you're the enemy. We don't need more enemies at the moment, Hotchner. I don't know what you can do. I'm not sure if you are the guys that are going to catch him. But I do know that Frankie can and_ will _. As I said; I want this fucker."_

 _He put on his thin leather jacket, turning away from the FBI man as he did. Before he turned around to leave, he spoke again. "And I'm fine. Thank you." The tone of his voice told Hotch that Miles sort of, kind of, in a way, did appreciate Hotch' recognition of him losing his friends._

"You need to stop beating yourself up."

He was pulled from his thoughts abruptly, immediately recognising the voice. Morgan lowered his hand, casted one last look down into his coffee mug before wearing that same dark and worried expression as he looked up to the man in the black and white suit.

Hotch hesitated as he registered the obvious leave-me-alone-attitude of his right hand. He knew that Morgan didn't want to hear that it wasn't his fault. That he had no intentions of sticking around if Hotch would explain things to him. But more importantly; that the man didn't want to hear that it was okay that he missed it, because they all had. Hotch clenched and unclenched his hands once, before approaching Morgan.

"Morgan, I'm not going to tell you what to feel. I'm not going to tell you what to do, or what to think. But I am going to ask you if you got your head in the game." He took a sharp breath in, questioning the overwhelming need to trust the man in front of him, before giving in. "Abby needs you."

He hit a soft spot, Hotch knew that. He struck right on the nerve as Morgan's head snapped to look at his supervisor, his unconsoling mien disappearing instantly. He repeated his words. "She needs you."

"Something you're not telling me Hotch?"

"She led us all the way to Morgan Falls." He said it as if that explained it all. "She left an empty envelope for me, used JJ's name, she sent us texts that are obviously an automatic response in case we tried contacting her on her numbers, but she created a visible and visual link with you."

"She's telling us something." Morgan said wary.

"Yes. But I don't know what she's trying to tell us." Hotch confessed and he listened to the almost pleading tone in his own voice. _Desperation._

"I'm here, Hotch." _I'm in the game_.

"Good." Suddenly, Hotch frowned. "Are you expecting a visitor?"

Morgan returned the wrinkled face. "No." He followed Hotch' gaze and spotted the teenager waiting on the sidewalk.

The black, young teen, not older than twenty, was looking at the pair nervously, occasionally glancing around and over his shoulders. When he noticed the eyes on him, he touched the green baseball cap on his head and approached Morgan and Hotch. Both men studiously held their eyes on him, mentally taking notes, their hands ready to grab their guns.

 _His skin is showing signs of lots of sun exposure and judging by his skin structure; he doesn't cleanse his face a lot. Bones poked out from underneath his skin – clearly he didn't eat much either. There was a scar above his lip and another above his eyebrow. Fighting scars, most likely. His clothes were dirty, old and worn, showing spots of fading colour. There were cuts and holes as well, especially in his jeans. He spent a lot of time outside. Too much time. The soles of his shoes are disconnected at certain places, different type of laces on each shoe. Street kid._

"Can we help you?" Hotch asked the boy once he met up with the FBI agents.

Instead of answering, the young man observed both men, eyeing them up and down and Morgan noticed he clenched his fist in the pocket of his hoodie. "You Hotchner?" He finally said.

"I am." Instantly, Hotch turned to the man, understanding that the teenager came with a mission.

Then, he turned his attention towards Morgan. "So you're Morgan?"

Morgan nodded. "Is there something we can do for you?"

"You can show me some id."

Hotch and Morgan grabbed their badges and showed them to him. He didn't look at them long. Instead, he glanced around again, his muscles tensed and thick with adrenaline. "Frankie sends me."

There was a sign of relief on Morgan's face as he heard the name. If she sent someone to them, then she was still alive. For now.

The black boy pulled a large brown envelope from his pocket. "She asked me to give this to agent Hotchner." Hotch took the envelope and held it in his hands.

"Are you alright? We can help you." Morgan told him.

The boy smiled. Then he turned around and hurried away.

"What the hell was that?" Morgan blurted but got no response.

Hotch opened the envelope and pulled out a single piece of paper. He sighed heavily before showing it to Morgan. "You're still here. Get out the hell out of Atlanta."

"Hotch!" Prentiss called out to her supervisor and both men spun around on their heels. Prentiss jogged towards the two agents, noticing the paper but not asking questions. "Frankie just called McCallister. She again told him to get out of Atlanta."

"Same here." Hotch showed her the note. "A street kid delivered this seconds ago."

"What the heck is going on?" Prentiss asked, repeating the question Morgan had formed earlier.

"I don't know. But whatever it is, Abby clearly wants us out of the city. She must feel like we're in danger." Hotch suggested. He looked at Morgan and Prentiss followed him.

"She thinks the Christian Killer will come after us." The handsome man concluded. "She's fearing for our safety."

"But why? Because we have Evelyn Parker?" Prentiss still didn't understand.

"No. Because he thinks we have Zoe Price." Hotch said.

Prentiss made a face. "Could it be possible that Frankie made him think that she's still alive and that we have her? Getting us to leave Atlanta in a rush would certainly suggest that we do. Perhaps she's trying to draw him out?"

"There's something on the envelope, Hotch." Morgan pointed at the words scribbled on the inside of the lip. Hotch turned the paper to look at it. He frowned, his brows knitting together as he stared at the words for a moment.

"What does it say?" Prentiss asked him.

"Atlantis." Hotch answered. He looked at Morgan. "Does that mean anything to you? Did Abby ever mention something like that?"

He shook his head and sighed. "What the hell kind of game is she playing here?"

* * *

" _Marvel not - for the hour is coming in which all that are in the graves shall come forth into the resurrection of the life or damnation."  
_ John, 5:28,29.


	11. State of Radical Emergency

" _It is restful, tragedy, because one knows that there is no more lousy hope left. You know you're caught, caught at last like a rat with all the world on its back. And the only thing left to do is shout - not moan, or complain, but yell out at the top of your voice whatever it was you had to say. What you've never_ _said before. What perhaps you don't even know till now."  
_ Jean Anouilh.

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 18.19.

Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

Atlantis meant in Greek 'the island of Atlas'. Atlas was a primordial titan who held up the celestial sphere. He was believed to be the titan of astronomy and navigation. The celestial sphere stood for the Sky, also called Uranus, which he was doomed by Zeus to carry after the titans were defeated by the Olympians. Atlantis was first mentioned by Plato in a dialogue between Timaeus and Critias, and according to Plato, the island laid in front of the Pillars of Hercules. The Pillars of Hercules, in their turn, were later translated as "the farthermost limits reached by Heracles". The pillars served as a warning for sailor and navigators to go no further as they bore the words 'Nec plus ultra', which meant 'nothing further beyond'. This translated back as Atlantis, after it sunk in a single day and night of misfortune, was placed in the realm of the Unknown.

Reid warily looked around the room, hoping that his colleagues managed to process his words. There was a silence as they looked at each other. Prentiss was the first to speak. "Okay, so I got all that, but I still don't get it. Why is Abby giving us a message about a non-existing land?"

Reid pursed his lips. "I don't know yet." He started to go through the papers before him – the case file, the envelope delivered to Hotch, his own notes, Abby's personal file.

"We need to start at the absolute beginning." Rossi said. "Start right over." He glanced at Hotch. "We keep dropping in this case, going from one point to the other." _Which is probably just how Abby wants it._

"Okay, so the murders started in Atlanta, right?" Prentiss took the opportunity to make a fresh start and sat down at the table. The glass of Team One's primary room was matte again, shielding them from the outside.

"We profiled him to be-" Hotch was cut off by Rossi.

"Hang on. Absolute beginning."

He nodded. "Girls were abducted, all blondes, all 15 years of age. Their bodies were disposed of in Atlanta, yes" He intertwined eyes with Prentiss, "but they weren't all from Atlanta itself. They were born in the Atlanta area. A few never even lived in the city."

"But he still disposed of the bodies near Atlanta. That means Atlanta is his home ground." Morgan concluded.

"Could Atlantis be code for Atlanta?" JJ suggested.

"That wouldn't make sense." Garcia piped from behind her faithful laptop. She had her head resting on her hands, leaving the laptop in peace. "If Atlantis stands for Atlanta, then why we should tell you guys to leave Atlanta and at the same time leave a message guiding us to Atlantis?"

"Good point." Rossi remarked. Garcia grew a few inches and smiled.

"Plus, Atlantis, I mean, Abby's a genius, we all know that, so she knows all these things that we don't. She's leaving a clue that obviously means a lot more than we can comprehend at this time. We'll have to do extensive research in order to figure it out. Right?"

"Only… Prentiss looked at Reid from the corner of her eyes. "We _also_ have a genius."

"You're the key, Reid." Morgan told him wisely. The absent mien on the genius' face said enough – he had already figured it out.

"Atlantis." He mumbled. "It's Greek mythology. The city that fell because of greed and sin."

Hotch nodded at himself. "Abby's greed to catch him, the sins she has committed while trying to get him. It's as much a message from Abby as a link between her and the Unsub."

"The Athiens had to burn because of their failed attempt to conquer Athens."

"Athens?" JJ repeated. "Abby used my name when she called Athens PD about another victim."

"We're not looking for Atlantis." Reid suddenly said strongly and confident. He rose from his chair and walked to the boards.

"We're not?" Prentiss questioned and made a gesture that she now lost it completely.

"Atlantis doesn't matter." Reid bluntly replied. "That's the whole point."

"People believed it to be a castle, a fortress, right?" McCallister asked. He had been sitting opposite of Hotch and mostly let the BAU team just do what they did best, offering whatever information he thought was helpful whenever he thought it was needed.

Garcia nodded. "That's what I gathered from my 5 minute Wikipedia-moment."

"It's a castle Abby built to keep safe." Morgan turned in his chair, joining Reid in his train ride towards answers. The rest of the group remained silent, some glancing in Hotch' direction, all sending him the same thought – _they_ could solve it based on their knowledge of Abby and their intimate moments with her.

"She created another world, another identity." Reid mumbled out loud as he explained it all in figures on one of the boards. "We're looking at this the wrong way. The Unsub set Abby up in Atlanta with a woman that isn't his type. Louisa was a brunette, never been a blonde, yet this Unsub is extremely preferential."

"So he killed Louisa to send Abby a message. Come too close and I'll take the people you love." Morgan remembered.

"A failed attempt to conquer Athens." Reid quoted the earlier words. "Abby's greed in bringing him down, sinning as she does it – she _is_ Atlantis. Not existing, a made-up story." He turned towards the rest of his team. "The Trojan horse is also Greek mythology. The Greeks used a wooden horse, a Trojan horse, to get into the city of Troy and thus end the war. Louisa Delgado was the Unsub's Trojan horse, that's how he got into Abby's castle."

"And it worked because not only did he get away" Morgan added, "he also got Abby away from anybody that could help her."

"He got her away from her job, from her reputation here in the city, away from the police, from us." Reid continued. "But he also managed to separate her from her best friend, from Miles, who had been hunting him _with_ her. The last step was eliminating the last people that were still helping her trying to catch him." He paused as his eyes found McCallister. "Her old team."

Something hit him in the face. There was a voice, a small creature sitting on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. He got the tickles in his stomach, the emerging fist in his chest. His entire skin ached as he realised whatever there had been _right there_ was close. Really close. Unfortunately, before Hotch could grasp it, JJ's phone rang. As he turned his head to look at the blonde, his eyes met McCallister's and the voice grew louder again. _Something_ was right there.

JJ picked up, not recognising the caller id. "Special agent Jennifer Jareau speaking." Her skin instantly lost its colour once she heard the voice.

" _Is this the FBI Behavioural Analysis Unit communication liaison?"_ It said.

"It is. Who am I speaking with?" She answered, signalling to the rest of her team that something was going on.

"I think you know who I am. JJ, could you be a dear and put me on speaker?"

JJ removed the phone from her ear and put it on mute before anything else. "I think it's him." She blurted.

"The Christian Killer?" Garcia gasped. When her best friend nodded, she started typing. "I'm recording the phone call and I'll try to triangulate the call as we speak. Oh, you're going down, sucker."

They're faces seemed whiter than usual. The skin seemed to be able to break any second due to the hardening of their faces, the hostility and agitation keen in their eyes. They all stood at the ready, McCallister included – ready to jump at the one on the other end of the phone. JJ looked at Hotch, who bobbed his head and pressed the speaker button on her phone.

"This is SSA Hotchner with the FBI. Who am I talking to?"

There was a silence that seemed to last for ages. "Agent Hotchner." The mechanic, deformed voice on the other end was cool and calculated.

"Yes." Hotch replied, trying to see if he expose the caller and figure out if he was really the Christian Killer.

"It's been a while."

"Who is this?"

"You know who I am, agent Hotchner. We met before."

"Yes, well, ten years is a long time."

The voice made a sound that looked like a chuckle. "Nice try, agent Hotchner. But you and I both know that it's been twelve. Almost thirteen now. Ahw. We never celebrated our anniversary." Hotch looked at McCallister. It was proof that they were dealing with someone who knew the basic information, but they needed solid proof that it was _him_.

"You've got something that belongs to me." The voice said.

"And what would that be?"

"You've got my Sunday." There were looks going around the room. He skipped Saturday. "And I want her back."

"Who is Sunday?" Hotch tried.

"I don't play your games, _Aaron_. Sunday's been bad. She took my Saturday. You know that. But that's okay. You can have Saturday. I just want Sunday. I want my darling back."

Reid launched himself from his seat quietly and pressed the mute button. "He quoted the exact same text as on the note found at the crime scene." Hotch nodded and Reid pushed the button again.

"Just for the record, and to make sure we understand each other, who is Sunday?"

"Oh. Oh oh, agent Hotchner." His voice sounded cynical, as if talking to a child that had done something wrong. "You and I both know that we understand each other. Perfectly. Give me my darling back, or I'll take one of yours."

His last words sent a shock wave through the team. The initial shock was met with reasoning – how could he know about the team anyway? He was obsessed with his 'darlings' and Abby, not them. He shouldn't even acknowledge their existence. However, fear was quickly put back into their hearts as the voice spoke again.

"Agent Morgan, does your sister still attend yoga class every Tuesday evening? Mmmh? As for agent McCallister, well, I can't take your daughter anymore, but I could still go after your wife. Oops, my mistake, ex-wife. As for you, agent Hotchner, I could of course still take your son. Do what the Reaper had failed to do."

"Threats like these will get you nowhere. We don't have Zoe Price. She died." Hotch told him, trying hard to control his emotions.

"God will punish those who sin. Lying is a sin, agent, and I am right. Keeping my darling from me, is a sin. God will teach you a lesson soon. I will have my darling back."

The bleep at the end of his sentence indicated that he had hung up. Morgan cursed, JJ had covered her mouth, Rossi and Prentiss shared a look. Instinctively, Hotch turned to Garcia, who returned his look with big eye, pleading him not to make her say it. She shook her head.

"Goddamn it!" Morgan cursed again and threw his hands in the air.

"You'll need to arrange for your family's to be taken somewhere safe. We can't take the risk." McCallister ordered them. JJ nodded and grabbed her cell phone, shock still present on her bleak face.

"He's been watching us." Rossi commented sternly.

"No." Morgan shot sharply. Rossi look at him. "He's been watching Hotch and McCallister and me. Exactly those three that Abby warned."

"Yeah, but she used my name in Athens. The caller didn't mention me."

"He must think you're not that important." Reid told her softly.

"Frankie obviously thinks she is." Prentiss replied, shrugging a shoulder as she spoke.

"He did call _me_." JJ closed her eyes for a few seconds. "I'm the glue." She quoted Abby's earlier words.

"Did you say glue?" The blonde tech blurted out as she looked up from her computer screen. She had been quiet, working hard to track the caller.

"Yeah. Abby meant that I keep the team together. Hence, I'm the glue."

"That must be why she used our name. If she sees you as some sort of guidance, then she felt you needed to be kept in the loop, which is why she used your name, as some sort of alert or notification." Reid concluded, his words nearly tumbling over his lips. "She must have known that at some point, the Unsub would contact us and that he would do so through you because you're the communication liaison."

"Wait a minute." Rossi pulled everyone to a halt. "The Unsub knows Abby better than we originally thought. He knows of her riddles linking to Greek mythology." When she was met with confused looks, she explained. "He struck in Athens. That's pretty far out of his comfort zone. He's using Abby's game against her."

"He's leading her right into a trap." Hotch summed, fear this time creeping all the way up to the look in his eyes as his usual stern mien broke into pieces.

Rossi sighed and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. As he organised his thoughts, he began to speak. "We're dealing with a white male in his 40s, physically strong, religious, narcissistic tendencies and extremely calculated. He won't make a move if every possible outcome hasn't been considered and evaluated. He has possible law enforcement experiences, or at least knowledge of how we work, due to a lack of physical evidence at all the crime scenes. He's goal orientated, he's been waiting for twelve years, taking pleasure from the simple thought that his surviving victims were still out there, constantly thinking about him. Dominant, sadistic."

"He's highly organised and structured. He's been stalking an FBI agent for at least four years and killed three FBI agents on top of his previous victims." Reid continued. Rossi's eyes popped open again. "He has to have a relatively high IQ and with his strong urge to plan and organise, he most likely suffers from an anti-personality disorder or grew up with a family member with the same illness. He's a controlling, manipulative perfectionist with religious aspects. He thinks God is on his side."

"Don't forget the massive focus on his previous victims." JJ commented.

"Wait a minute." Morgan said suddenly. He had his eyes fixed on the evidence boards and they darted from one timeline to the other, from one photo to the next. He lifted his finger at nothing in particular and rose from his chair. "He's not focussed on his previous victims as much as he is focussed, obsessed with 'his Sunday'." Rossi sighed again and already opened his mouth, but Morgan cut him off. "Humour me, Rossi. We've been so focussed ourselves on finding the Christian Killer that we forgot to look at the whole picture."

"Which is?" JJ asked.

"She was right all along. She was right on his track." He mumbled. "Abby's investigation into the Christian Killer. We all thought it didn't take her anywhere because she failed to look at context, surroundings, concepts, sublevel psychology, she almost denied the entire presence of an Unsub in the first place. Instead, Abby was looking at his victims. I thought that she blindly focused on one thing, but that's all _he's_ focussed on too. He created the perfect victim, which means that his victims are most important, that's what he is all about, nothing else. Abby focussed on his victims as well, and she found something. She was right all along. She found something that was important enough for her to break every rule and procedure there is, hid his survivors and went off the grid. But she only kept in touch with Evelyn Parker. Parker, she got special treatment."

"So what's so special about Evelyn Parker?" Prentiss questioned.

Hotch raised his hand sharply to ask for silence as he followed Morgan with his eyes. He was on to something and he didn't need any interruptions.

"It's not about Evelyn Parker. Abby, _Abby_ focussed on her, but he," Morgan pointed at the phone, "the Christian Killer is only concerned with his 'Sunday'. Saturday was close, but he wanted Sunday. He gave up Evelyn Parker." Morgan paused as he looked at Hotch. "It's about Zoe Price. It makes perfect sense because _she_ was the last one. She was his perfect victim. So what was so special about her?"

"Zoe and Evelyn were best friends." McCallister suddenly remembered.

"Okay. What else?" Rossi pressed, asked them to think harder and looked at Hotch.

Hotch blinked and was instantly confronted with the image of Zoe Price. He swallowed. And then he felt the itch, that voice deep down in his chest that had been screaming at him for months, yet he couldn't hear a single word. His heart started to beat faster, his hands became sweaty.

 _Yeah, Hotch. What was so special about Zoe Price?_

"Zoe Price." His voice echoed in his head, sounds muted and his vision became a blur. In full automatic, he went down the list, the image of the young Zoe Price the only clear thing he could see. "She fit his preferences perfectly. 15 year old female, blonde hair, alive, joyfully rebellious, headstrong. She pretty much injected herself into the investigation. After the disappearance of her friend, Evelyn, she would come to the station every day to check up on us and made sure not a minute was wasted. We met her after she had been escorted out of the police station and jumped in front of our car. She had been rising hell and screaming murder at the station because she was denied any answers to her questions. She disappeared three weeks after we found her friend." Hotch smiled at the memories, but his smile quickly faltered. "She expressed her concerns towards me. She was a smart girl and she knew she was his type. She also knew that if Evelyn Parker was taken, she could be next; fitting his MO, right in the middle of his new hunting grounds. We never found any clues as on where Zoe could have been kept."

"What else do you remember?" Morgan asked him. "Your memories of her could lead us to the Christian Killer. If she saw you regularly before she disappeared, it's even possible you saw the Unsub before she was taken."

He shook his head. Zoe Price had nestled herself comfortably in his chest shortly after meeting her and the fact that she too had fallen victim at the hands of the Christian Killer _and_ the fact that he never found her, always felt like an open wound to Hotch. "She was a bright girl, high IQ. Stubborn as hell though." Bringing back the memories, Hotch suddenly remembered something important. "Zoe and Evelyn both weren't born in Atlanta. They moved to Atlanta when they were twelve. They stuck out. Zoe was adopted." His voice slowly died.

Hotch raised his brows momentarily, his eyes widened. Shock overcame him like the ocean could take a hold of a person on a cold and lonely December morning. "They were both from Peachtree city."

"Peachtree city isn't far from here." McCallister commented softly.

"She's a peach." Hotch whispered.

And then someone stabbed a knife right into his flesh. His heart stopped. His skin grew cold. His mind stopped working and got stuck on reply as he played the image in his head over and over again. He could feel his breath caught in his throat. He looked up slowly, not even hearing Rossi's calls to him. As if in slow motion, his eyes wandered up and over McCallister's body until they met the expression that told him all.

"She wanted to study Greek mythology and become a professor." He whispered. "You…"

Confused and wide eyes shifted between Hotch and McCallister. Feeling the electric tension between Hotch and McCallister, both Prentiss as Morgan lowered their hands until they rested on their holstered guns. Garcia noticed their movement and unknowingly leant back. Reid's expression was most confused, as he tried to do the math in his head. Rossi shifted his weigh to the back of his feet, ready to jump out of the line of fire when Prentiss on his right would pull her gun.

All the while Hotch could feel the tears burning and he couldn't understand why he had missed it.

* * *

" _Neither dead nor alive, the hostage is suspended by an incalculable outcome. It is not his destiny that awaits for him, nor his own death, but anonymous chance, which can only seem to him something absolutely arbitrary. He is in a state of radical emergency, of virtual extermination."  
_ Jean Baudrillard.


	12. Lost

" _With the truth, you need to get rid of it as soon as possible and pass it on to someone else. As with illness, this is the only way to be cured of it. The person who keeps truth in his hands has lost."  
_ Jean Baudrillard.

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 18.27.

Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

"My God."

"Hotch?" Morgan called out to him again, this time he did hear it, but he covered his face and turned away. "My God. How could I have missed that. How could I? It was right there."

McCallister's expression was hard to describe. He seemed apologetic, but also intensely sad and… Sorrowful. As Reid was reading his face, how the lines formed around his eyes, those eyes that seemed hollow, the lowering of the corners of Mac's mouth, he finally put the pieces of the puzzle together, the image of Evelyn Parker constantly readjusting her scarf burnt on his retinas. His mouth fell open.

 _Somewhere in the not so far away past._

" _Picture this." Hotch glanced at her and she folded her hands on her stomach. "An apple tree orchard. The farmer has another orchard, on the side of the hill, peaches. Whilst working on the apple trees, a seed that came with him from the peaches orchard is accidentally planted in the apple orchard. It grows, blossoms and delivers it peaches, but it still is a peach surrounded by apples."_

" _I'm sorry." He startled her. And she didn't mind showing it as her eyebrows raised in shock, her eyes locking themselves with his._

" _For what?"_

" _Being the peach amongst the apples instead of the peach amongst the peaches."_

" _Frankly? I am too. But I'm here now. There must be a reason why the farmer put me here. I might as well blossom and make little peaches." She joked._

 _This time, she could see it and it was real. Hotch smiled. Not widely or grinning, but meekly and gentle. "You like your job at the BAU."_

" _I like my BAU-job. Plus, you guys have a bigger and nicer plane."_

" _How did you know?"_

" _I just did." There was a brief interlude and she could feel this odd string that connected them grow stronger. Strangely enough, she didn't mind. Hotch was a man she dearly respected and looked up to._

" _Magic, spoons and Thanksgiving plans?"_

" _What can I say? I'm a peach."_

 _Hotch lifted his body from the airplane seat after sending her one last twitch of his muscles that looked like a smile. "Try to get some sleep."_

" _Yes Chief."_

 _He headed back to his own seat, but halted and turned back towards her._

" _Oh, and Frankie?" She looked up, her eyes searching for facial expressions. "In the end, it's all a fruit."_

 _She smiled, gratefully and apologetic. When he turned to leave again, she stopped him. "Hotch. Thank you."_

Hotch barked at McCallister to follow him after excusing himself from the room and he marched to Mac's office. He was white-hot-furious and ready to tear McCallister's head off. He was just so damned angry – at himself, at McCallister, at that _stupid_ Brit that smiled at him as she lied to him with her perfect poker face.

The tension shifted. Hotch' eyes were suddenly filled with an unknown, never seen before fury. "How could you keep that from us?" His voice was low, almost like a growl, but he retained himself from shouting. "How could you keep that from me?!"

"Hotch-" McCallister started, but he was cut off. From the look on his face, he understood Hotch' anger, his feelings of being misled and being lied to. However, he didn't get the chance to properly defend himself.

"She's alive, Zoe is alive!" This time, Hotch did raise his voice.

"Yes. She's alive." Mac told him truthfully.

Hotch pointed his finger in anger at the man in front of him. "We stood right here in this room as we talked about Zoe Price, how she was dead, that we didn't understand why the Unsub wanted Zoe Price so badly and all this time you knew that she had been found! You kept her away from him and now he wants her back."

"That's the-" McCallister tried again.

"I don't want to hear it." His voice could have cut through steel. "You have obstructed the course of this investigation so badly, I'm personally going to make sure you're pulled off the case. We won't be able to trust anything you say. You have lied about the most essential thing in this case! And you never told me that you had found her and that she was alive. Three of your agents are lying in the morgue and you're protecting the one person, the one and only person that can crack this case because she is on some wild goose chase to catch her own kidnapper! And you're helping her! You ignorantly came with us to Morgan Falls Reservoir, you watched us trying to break our heads over this thing and _all_ this time you knew! Where is she now?!" Hotch panted slightly after unleashing his rage.

McCallister had patiently waited for Hotch to yell and scream at him. Then he sighed and looked at Hotch. "I don't know." He admitted.

"Then you're no longer useful." Hotchner snapped and immediately refuse to pay any further attention to the man, looking and turning away from him.

"Hotch."

"Get out of my sight."

But McCallister never moved. He kept standing there, his hands down to his sides, visibly upset. He waited till the other man looked at him again. A part of Hotch wanted to punch hum, but there was something on McCallister's face that kept him from doing so. So Hotch looked at him and waited until he finally spoke. "I never found her."

Hotch lost track of the many times he felt himself surprised down to his very core, or so confused up to the point that he wondered who he was. He was lost for words, once again.

"She came to me." McCallister told him.

The men reconnected instantly in their mutual failure to recognise the girl that they had searched for for months, fearing for her safety, hoping for her survival until coming to terms with the fact that she had died. Only to find out that she hadn't.

"Eight years ago, SCU got the green light for expansion – a third team. Harrison and Wills wanted to create a new team, a young team, with only the best. They wanted to train these agents so that they would be fully tuned in to the SCU. They looked at young agents from all across the country. Harrison and Wills eventually picked out a group of people who held the highest potential. Most of them with high IQ's, perfect scores on tests – both psychological as physical. They brought a handful of newbies here, and eventually settled on two; Holy Lewis and Ricardo Pinõ. Under the wings of Harrison, Wills and the SCU they started a learning curve that would lead them to being the best in their field. Milo Bronckovic was already working for the SCU as a computer technician, but was noted. He was added as a third. A few months later, in 2006, Harrison and Wills came to me again. They had spotted an agent, from Atlanta, that they wanted. She was young, only 24, only been with the FBI for only a year. But they said that she would be perfect. Her background certainly was impressive. She had been recognized through her work with CIRG. Her file was so impressive, her test scores near perfect, I almost transferred her immediately. Only problem was; I already knew her. Because she had been part of my team in the Army when we worked Africa and Iraq. I informed them, briefly, about this. It only made them wanting her more. We all saw the potential, we saw what she could do. Back then, I thought I knew her. That's why I signed off on her transfer to the SCU." McCallister paused. "It took me two years to understand why she was able to see the monsters, why _she_ was able to work in the dark and why she never seemed to mind to get her mind dirty and invited all those sick bastards into her head, dissecting them until she understood it all. She understood them because she had been there. She had lived it. She had seen darkness and she was no longer afraid of it. For two years Abby Scott worked for me, again, and I never realised it either. She was twenty-six when we came across a case that was just too gruesome for words. We had never seen anything like it. After we closed it, I went to talk to her. I tried to understand why she seemed to be the only one unfazed by all this horror. Some things about Frankie never sat right with me. I mean, an eighteen year old girl outscoring some of the most veteran snipers, all the while beating all the boys in physical tests _and_ acing in the psychology department? She was too good to be true. To get where she already was, it would have taken her years. That meant she started early – real early. She'd been training her whole life it seemed. And then she told me the same riddle. _I'm peach._ Everything fell together at that point. She came to me, Hotch. I never found her. We never found her."

McCallister's confession came with silence.

"Abby _is_ Zoe." Hotch said eventually. He rubbed his face with his hands and took a couple of deep breaths. "How on earth could you have kept this from me? From everybody else involved in the case?" Hotch spat at McCallister.

"Hotch, there's something you should know." He started. He motioned for his former partner to take a seat as he did himself – next to him. Not behind his desk, but on the second chair in front of it. They were equals, after all. "I've been where you are. Probably felt even more stupid, you figured it out not even a year after seeing her again. It took me more than four. I was overwhelmed with the same confusion, the same desire for answers and the same drive to make sense of it. But Frankie never gave me that. She gave me everything else I asked for, but not that. No closure. I guess it's her way of making of me pay – she can't have closure yet, he's still out there. So neither can we."

Hotch slowly felt the anger dissipate again. He quietly listened to McCallister and let him talk without interruptions.

"I tried to talk to her about it. I tried to get some answers, to at least understand something of it all. But she was hell bound on keeping it all a big secret, some sort of mystery. I realised then that she did that for a reason." McCallister looked at Hotch. "The Christian Killer was alive and he was still out there, taunting them. When I confronted her about it, she and Miles appeared on my doorstep that night. They called upon the trust they had put in me when I was their lieutenant in the Army and they told me about their plan. On how they were trying to catch him. Hotch, we both know what this man can do. I had seen Frankie's work, I knew that she was an incredible profiler for her age and everything she told me made sense. So I agreed to it. I agreed to whatever they were or would do. On one condition." He sighed and rubbed his face.

"That they would keep you in the loop." Hotch finished for him.

Mac nodded. "Something she obviously didn't do. I mean, I knew there would always be things that she wouldn't tell me. It's in her nature to be so protective, but… When Frankie was arrested for Louisa Delgado's murder, I realised that this thing was spinning out of control. I tried to get her to talk to you, your team, not to expose her true identity, but to ask for help in catching him. Unfortunately, things didn't exactly work out as I had hoped they would." He confessed.

"So what is Abby's plan?"

"That's the problem." McCallister snorted, but without humour or joy. "The plan was to take the Christian Killer's plan and shove it right up his nose. Something, as we're learning, he is doing as well. Only he can control himself. Frankie can't. I knew that Franks would hide his survivors. That's why I knew it was important to have the Marshalls look for them as soon as we realised he was back. We were too late." He added solemnly. "Please understand that I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know if I could. I had no idea how far she was at, or what the plan was. Still don't, by the way. I weighed my options – I feared telling you and messing everything up and endangering Frankie more than I feared not telling you and therefore, quite possibly, obstructing this case in every way possible. I know she has a plan. I don't know if that plan will still work, but I know she's got one. She knows this guy inside out. I made a decision a long time ago and I am sticking to it. I am trusting my agent."

"How did I miss this?" He turned back at Mac. "How did she get out?"

Mac shook his head. "She never told me, but I gathered that at some point, she was let go, just like the other survivors. She passed his tests and he let her go. She wouldn't tell me what happened after that. Said that it would endanger the people that had helped them. The people that she owed. All I know is that as she worked for SCU, I saw that she could get certain things done."

"She had a knack for meeting the right people and a talent for knowing just how to call in her favours." Miles said, appearing out of thin air. He shrugged as he leant against the door frame. "I take it you guys found out."

"You knew as well?" Hotch asked, trying not to sound surprised. He had witnessed the strength of their relationship before.

"I put the pieces together. I never asked her though." He told the angry man in front of him. _That was the thing that you wouldn't dare to ask, because you knew it would put Abby in the position of either lying, or forcing her to admit to her best friend that there were things that she didn't want to tell him. Their relationship was built on trust, mutual trust, and honesty. The few things they didn't talk about, wouldn't be talked about. Simply, because they operated on a strong and steady base of trust and honesty; having to tell the other that they didn't want to talk about it, would undermine their entire relationship._

"Abby called." He informed them casually. "She's on her way." Both men nodded.

"Do you have any idea what Abby would do next?" Hotch asked him. He had forgiven the man once he noticed his struggles. McCallister had, due to his history with Abby, and most likely the feelings of failure after not being able to find or save her, put himself in the position of wanting to redeem himself – to finally being able to help her, so he gave her all she needed. Hotch made a mental note to not give in to Abby, despite the urge to give himself up to her that would surely rise.

Mac shook his head. "We had a plan and that plan went out the window the second Louisa was murdered."

Hotch looked at him with that somewhat emotionless look he could give people. Then he stood up, put his hand on McCallister's shoulder and returned to his team. McCallister and Abby may not have a game plan, he would make sure he and his team would have one.

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 19.13.

Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

"Garcia, get me everything you have on Zoe Price." Rossi ordered the tech as soon as Hotch and McCallister had exited the Primary Room. Garcia nodded, feverishly typing away on her laptop as her eyes were still fixed on her boss heading towards McCallister's office.

JJ shot up from her chair, noticing more curious eyes, and pressed the button to turn the glass matte, veiling her team under the cover of vague figures and shades.

"There's something terribly fishy about this." Prentiss commented as she too, rose from her chair to join the rest of the team around Garcia's laptop.

"Could it be possible that she's still alive?" JJ thought out loud, but there wasn't much of a reply. Morgan was bending over the table, one hand leaning on the surface, the other on Garcia's chair. "Give me something momma." He told her. Reid was absent. _Too_ absent. But with the tension and the confusion in the room, they failed to see it.

"Okay, this is what I got and I'm sorry, but it isn't much. Zoe Franklin Price. Daughter of Scott and Abby Franks, both English teachers who died in a car accident when Zoe was six. She was taken into the care of Frank and Marie Price, who adopted her when she was eight, which is why her last name is Price, and not Franks. She was a grade A student, there are notes from teachers here that she held a very promising academic future, career options, handling the death of her parents well, a bit rebellious, she caused some trouble, but nothing out of the ordinary. Other than, of course, her disappearance at the age of 15." She added. "There is absolutely no trace of her after that."

Prentiss put her left hand on the table and leant forward so that she could see Garcia's laptop screen. "Okay, let's just assume that there's something going on. What if she _is_ alive?"

"The Christian Killer sure is convinced of that fact." Rossi commented. "Let's theoretically say that she is. How would a 16-year old disappear?"

The blonde looked up, awaiting commands. "Pull up a list of anyone working the Christian Killer case." Prentiss told her and Garcia did as she was asked. "Can you show me the names of the people that retired or quit shortly after the Christian Killer case?"

"That's eighteen names."

"Cross reference to people still living in the Atlanta area." JJ suggested.

"That leaves two, but they were never high up on the ladder. I don't think they'd be able to pull it off." Garcia said.

Rossi shook his head. "Someone willing to help a 16 year old create a whole new identity would stick around, look after her."

"That means it's one of the other names on the list, but it's going to be hard because that list, my beloved, is long and it's going to be hard to cross names off. Here, Jason Walden hasn't been seen for two years after he developed a drug addiction. Gina Torres got cancer, got cured and went on a very long holiday. It's going to take time to work through this list, Rossi, there's over 150 names."

"150 People worked the Christian Killer case?" JJ asked stunned.

"It's FBI, local police forces, several different police stations that were involved, the military for coordinated searches." Rossi mumbled.

"And this list doesn't even include all the volunteers that helped with the searches as well." Garcia augmented and shrugged. "I'm going to have to sort through them all separately or you're going to have to give something more specific. I'm sorry."

"But how can we even be sure she's still alive? There would have to be some sort of trace." JJ said, the agony of not knowing stuck under her fingernails like dirt and she felt like ripping her hair from her head.

"Guys." Morgan warned them as he saw two shadows approaching the doors. Before they opened, Rossi spoke quickly. "Let's just keep this theory to ourselves, for now." There was no time to reply as Hotch pushed the doors open and he and McCallister entered.

"What's the word?" Rossi asked him the second Hotch entered the room again. Prentiss took her seat again. Garcia wiped her screen clean.

Hotch pressed the button to turn the glass crystal again. "We need answers and until there's someone that can provide us with them, we'll look for them ourselves." Hotch glanced at Miles who had followed the two men and sat down. "Put aside your judgments, we're going after a serial killer, because that's what we do. So let's get to work."

"What about Abby?" Reid questioned carefully.

Miles leant forward in his chair. "She just called me. I don't know where she was when she called or where she's now, but she said she'd be over. If she says that to me, I would bet my life on it."

"May I ask where your undying trust in her comes from?" Prentiss was cautious in her question and tone of voice, seeming kind but curious.

Miles smiled and shrugged. "We're best buddies. We'd do anything for each other. Served together, worked together for years, lived together. It's just what it is. I'm sorry I don't have a better answer for you."

The brunette returned the smile. "That's okay."

"So what's the plan?" JJ wanted to know.

Hotch sighed. As he organised his thoughts, he realised they were in fact nowhere with the case. Sure, finding Zoe Price, the one thing the Christian Killer wanted the most, was a good thing, yet Hotch wondered if Abby saw it the same way. "Find the Christian Killer." He concluded.

"What about Abby?" Morgan was the one that dared to ask the question for the second time, repeating Reid's earlier words.

"She could be crucial to this investigation, Hotch." Rossi added pressure.

"Abby could crack this case. She's been investigating him for five years. Rossi's right, she may know more." Hotch looked at Morgan. He was sitting opposite of his supervisor, his elbow popped up on the turning chair's arm rest, his finger before his lips. He returned the meaningful look as he understood Hotch'.

"Abby should be here soon. Until then, we've got work to do." He decided.

"Okay. So where do we start?" Garcia wanted to know, already in her battle station mode.

At some point, between starting their own secret investigation and noticing two approaching shadows, the six members of the BAU signed an unspoken pact that they would ignore what they all knew – _their supervisor was withholding information from them._

* * *

 _May, 1997.  
_ _Atlanta, Georgia.  
_ _08.53._

 _The young agent Hotchner approached the parking lot just outside the city. He ignored the cameras and reporters, throwing questions at his head. With his sunglasses protecting his eyes from any penetrating miens or demands, he quickened his pace and flashed his badge to the police officer holding the line. The man nodded and lifted the crime scene tape to let him in. continuing towards a gathered group of experts, Hotch was joined by another young man, but taller, broader and shorter hair. He handed him a cup of coffee._

" _What's this? Number eight?"_

 _Hotchner made a confirming sound and took a sip from his coffee. "She was discovered this morning by police going their rounds. Apparently this area is known for prostitution."_

" _Just what I needed, interviewing hookers." McCallister looked at his temporary partner. They had been teamed up because of Hotchner' experience with the profiling unit of the FBI and Mac's local knowledge. McCallister had been working with the FBI on and off for almost ten years now, most of it in and out of Atlanta. Every so often he'd get the urge to run back to the military and did one or two tours before coming back home to his beloved Atlanta. He liked Hotch, he was a good man. For a former prosecutor, that is._

" _It's always so fucking hard to get in touch with the prostitutes." He explained, but knew it was futile. Hotchner was already in another mind set, focussing on the gruesome task before them._

 _They approached a group of police officers, detectives, forensic analysts and a few other FBI agents. Nodding as a way of greeting them, both men followed the directions of one of the detectives._

" _She's right there, around the dumpster." He said._

" _Thank you." McCallister replied. He took a deep breath. "Here we go."_

 _Both men halted as the neared the end of the container, turning to their right to take in the scene._

 _15 years old is too young to die._

 _Hotch looked at the girl at his feet. Her body wasn't that terribly damaged, which was consistent with the days she had been missing. Only three, he remembered. Squatting down, he mentally told her that at least she didn't suffer_ that _much. Still, torture signs were visible, just like the gaping hole that was once her throat. Her skin seemed whiter than paper, all drained from the blood loss. There were some bruises around her wrists and ankles and she most likely, judging by the place and form of the bruises, suffered a few bruised ribs. Her lip was split and she had a black eye._

" _She clearly wasn't what he is looking for." McCallister commented softly._

" _Just three days." Hotch responded in the same way._

" _What the fuck does he want with them, Hotch?"_

" _I don't know yet. But it's clear that he's expecting_ something _from them."_

" _He takes them alive but he doesn't take them for sex. Judging by the marks on her body, he also doesn't take them for sadistic pleasures."_

" _I agree." Hotch said. He looked right into her blue eyes and thought that 15 was way too young to die._

* * *

February seventh.  
Same day.  
Monday _.  
_ 19.47.

Special Crime Unit, Headquarters, Atlanta.

"Were there any kind of leads?" JJ asked. She had provided the team with fresh coffee and they all settled into the Glass Room.

"We figured there was a good possibility that a priest or father from the area could be responsible, so we looked into all religious persons in Atlanta but came up with nothing. We looked at men with law enforcement backgrounds, even military personnel, but again nothing. Nobody seemed to fit the profile."

"An Unsub this meticulous, this organised, he would stand out as a sore thumb." Rossi commented. Miles had been going through the file for _another_ time and nodded in agreement.

"And yet, we couldn't find him. We broadened our searches but his victims just kept showing up. He didn't seem to follow a certain time pattern, he was just looking for the right victim. Eventually, being under too much pressure from above, we had to prioritise. Because of his extensive knowledge of the area, both McCallister and I agreed that he would have to live in the city. Again, we did a search for anything remotely related, but came up with such vague results that it took us weeks to clear an area."

"And still under pressure from the top, eventually it fell apart." McCallister ended. He cleaned his fingers with a tissue and dropped it on his paper plate. JJ had arranged for some food to arrive for her team, something that was loudly welcomed.

"I'm just wondering whether he picked these girls just because that's what he wanted, or if there's something behind it. A girl from his past, maybe?" Morgan thought out loud.

"Typically, skinny, blonde and blued eyed girls are considered to resemble perfection." Reid told them, glad he could rely on his statistics again. "I ran a facial comparison and though the girls do resemble some facial characteristics, I can't say that there's a pattern."

"So he didn't pick the girls for any resemblance." Prentiss finalised. "What about their characters? Their attitude?"

"Pretty much all over the map." McCallister told her. "But it did seem like there was a consistency with his survivors; they all had a bit of a rebellious attitude, but not much. Nothing that would set them apart. They were, mostly, all good girls."

"Why did he let them live?" Rossi asked mumbling. He was staring at his notes, pen in his hand, not looking up.

"From what we could gather from the girls until the investigation officially became a cold case, he would torture them and preach. A lot."

"Like brainwashing?" JJ responded.

McCallister and Hotch shared a look. "A lot of this case is based on gut feelings and guessing." McCallister informed the group. "Most of these girls were too traumatised to actually tell us. We still don't know exactly why he let them go, none of the girls would talk about it. But from what we gathered, based on the profile and some intuition, we figured that he was mentally dissecting these girls, picking their brain, looking for that something that made them so special to him. Through religion, I reckon, he found something with these girls that just, set him off. And if he couldn't find it, he would kill them and move on to the next."

"But he stopped after seven girls. Reid, is the number seven in any way linked to Christianity?" Morgan put his coffee down and looked at the young genius.

"Please don't tell me…" Miles started and his eyes widened as he realised Reid didn't need a book or anything before he spoke.

"The number 7 in Biblical numerology is the number of perfection. God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh. The number seven is especially prominent in the Book of Revelation; seven seals, seven churches, seven trumpets, seven promises to the church. Jesus spoke seven utterances from the cross, which could be where the Unsub drew the carving of the cross from. In fact, Jesus said seven things on the cross: he asked for forgiveness in Luke 23:34. In that same chapter he also said 'I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise'. In Matthew 27:46 Jesus cried out at the ninth hour 'My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?'. Jesus saw his mother in John 19:26 and said 'Dear woman, here is your son'. Later on he said 'Knowing that all was now completed, Jesus said I am thirsty'. Then, in John 19:30 Jesus received his drink and said that the Sculpture was finished, bowed his head and gave his spirit. In Luke 23:46, which is the chapter concerning Jesus' death, Jesus said 'Father, into your hands I commit my spirit' and he breathed his last breath. On top of that, the killer is constantly referring to the days of the week, naming his victims after each day that he took them and gave them back. Seven days in a week, the seventh day being the most important to him."

"My God, he's worse than Frankie." Miles stuttered and received a small smile from the genius.

"We could have used you back in the day, kid." McCallister told him. "Connecting all that, with our profile that covered a lot of religious aspects, I finally understand why he took seven girls and why they had to be perfect."

"They were a religious completion." Hotch said, agreeing with the man.

"Like a sacrifice." Prentiss replied, a deep-lined frown on her forehead.

"More like a spiritual journey. Finding seven girls that would 'commit their spirits into his hands' would be the ultimate connection between the Unsub and Jesus, or religion." Reid corrected her. Then his face lit up. "The conquest. The journey to the Promised Land. That's what he's after."

"But that doesn't explain why he took girls. You said 'Woman, here is your son'. Why did he take girls then?" Miles realised, sitting up in his chair.

"It could be because of the story of Eve." Morgan suggested. "The woman who ate from the forbidden tree, or perhaps the women serve as a substitute."

"Or maybe he just doesn't like women." JJ commented dryly, recalling the crime scene photos.

"It's because of Mary Magdalene." Reid suddenly piped. "The most loyal woman in the entire Bible. She stayed true to Jesus up until he died at the cross. Our Unsub must believe that women are somehow purer, or more loyal."

"He'd need someone extremely loyal in order to create his perfect victim. That's why he chose the women." Hotch concluded solemnly.

* * *

" _Though it be in the power of the weakest arm to take away life, it is not in the strongest to deprive us of death."  
_ Sir Thomas Browne.


End file.
